


King Of All Wild Things

by NotUnusual



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-13
Updated: 2013-10-13
Packaged: 2017-12-29 07:55:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 40,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1002889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotUnusual/pseuds/NotUnusual
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt, a sheltered royal in the Sylvester kingdom, is banished and forced into the Wild - a place of fierce beasts and cannibals. At least, that's how the stories go. But what Kurt finds in the jungle, or rather, what finds <i>him</i>, is not what he was prepared for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for dubcon and violence in later chapters.
> 
> Thank you to my betas, who have helped me out over various chapters! Thank you to Alex, Megan, Tracy, and especially Nikki. <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friends, the "David" in this story was never meant to be Karofsky. I don't know why my subconscious chose David, of all names, but he's honestly just an OC. 
> 
> (However, if you dig Karofsky and want him to be Karofsky, go for it! Really, you can imagine him as anyone you want.)

“ _What_ are you doing?”

Kurt breaks away from Jack’s mouth, his own open in silent exclamation, and looks up into the disapproving, angry face of his aunt Sue.

_Well, shit._

\----

This is Kurt’s third strike, which, to be honest, having strikes at all with his aunt is generous. Sue is the kingdom’s Queen, and she is obsessed with expanding and strengthening the Sylvester line. Weak links are not tolerated.

When Kurt’s second cousin, Terri, was unable to conceive, she faked her own pregnancy. Three times. All of them were babies stolen from poor townspeople who hadn’t a voice. When Terri’s ruse was discovered her punishment involved a guillotine. As for the children, Kurt never found out what happened to them.

That is how far Kurt’s kinsmen go to please Sue.

Kurt may have lived a life exempt from such harsh scrutiny, but his mother, and one of Sue’s dear younger sisters, had passed away from influenza when Kurt was young. Kurt’s father had followed not but a month later, leaving Kurt orphaned with a broken heart.  Sue had so graciously taken him in (her words) and raised him in the castle among most of the rest of his extended family. He hadn’t taken it well. Growing up he was stubborn, obstinate. Still, Sue favored him. She treated him as a daughter, dressed him in lovely clothes, pampered him, lavished him with all the finest things. He was not allowed outside the castle walls without a guardian and had never once explored the town or beyond without a chaperone. Sixteen years old and the most he knew of freedom was navigating the castle, and even then there were eyes all around.

It had made his secret meetings exceptionally difficult to plan and execute.

\----

It had all started with David.

Homosexuality wasn’t _unheard of_ in society, but it was thought of by most as abnormal and inappropriate. Something reserved for whorehouses, a perverse kink. Kurt didn’t think he was perverse, he barely knew a thing about sex, only that it was an act between a man and woman to bear children.  Kurt knew about _kissing_. His classmates kissed. Members of his family kissed. He’d read about it in stories. It seemed romantic and nice and Kurt knew it was something he wanted to try.  When he was thirteen he seized the opportunity with his chess partner, a short girl with long, silky hair. It hadn’t felt nearly as nice as he thought it would. He tried again with another girl at fifteen, but nothing. Instead he was beginning to notice how handsome some of the upperclassmen were, especially the guards in their uniforms. At first he mistook attraction for admiration, but then there was _David_.

David, with his dark hair and bright eyes, a strong jaw, and older by a handful of years. Dark hair was rare in the kingdom, dark eyes even more so. David’s eyes were the standard blue, but his hair was a rich brown, giving him something of an exotic look that would guarantee him plenty of potential wives. He was Kurt’s escort from choir practice and Kurt was infatuated with him. Kurt wanted badly for David to like him. He dressed more fabulously than usual with lots of gleaming gold buttons and ruffles, his hair immaculately coiffed in a backward swoosh. He would bake David cookies, would sing to him on their walks and invite him to tea. David always took the cookies with a smile, listened to Kurt with a smile, but would refuse tea every time, saying Kurt’s aunt would not approve, that he was a guard and nothing more. But Kurt was spoiled, and with the exception of being unable to explore on his own he was used to getting what he wanted. And he wanted David. For a friend or something more, Kurt wasn’t sure, but he never gave up.

On Kurt’s sixteenth birthday, David finally agreed to tea. Kurt was delighted. He dressed in his favorite outfit, a deep purple velvet overcoat, and underneath a white lace and ruffled shirt. He put the faintest hint of blush along his cheekbones, enough to pinken them but slight enough that David would not realize he was wearing any make-up at all. He put gloss on his lips to make them shine, and just the barest hint of kohl along his eyelids. For the final touch he dabbed some of his aunt’s perfume on his neck. He wanted something unnamable from David, and he was certain the only way he would get it was if he appeared girlish. David kissed girls, Kurt was sure of it.

When David came to the door he looked at Kurt in a way that Kurt had never been on the receiving end of. He didn’t have the words to describe it, but it sent a shiver along his skin without the aid of touch or breeze.

“Did you arrange all this by yourself, prince?” David asked once they were seated.

Kurt nearly dropped the plate he was about to set in front of David. “I’m not a prince,” he said, demurely, as he tended to when David was present.

“Mm. This is all very pretty.”

“Thank you.” Kurt smiled without having to fake shyness, and poured them both some tea. It smelled of lavender and vanilla and would be delicious with the tiny sandwiches and biscuits Kurt had made. As he was passing one to David’s plate, David caught his wrist. Kurt’s eyes flashed, studying David’s face for intention. David slid his chair close and Kurt froze while David brought his wrist to his nose and inhaled. “D-David?”

“Is this for me as well?” David asked, swiping a thumb gently along Kurt’s lower lip, smearing the gloss along his skin.

Kurt’s stomach churned in embarrassment and arousal, though he could not name the latter. “I’m sorry, I—”

“No, prince, I like it.” David’s face came closer, his mouth ghosting over Kurt’s, moving to his ear. “I know why you ask me to tea every week.”

Kurt swallowed hard. “Do you?”

But David did not answer, at least not with words. He leaned in and kissed Kurt, so sweet and soft at first, lips sliding against each other. It was like a spark ignited inside Kurt’s chest. He dropped the sandwich he’d still been holding and clutched helplessly at David’s shirtsleeve, eyes slowly closing as his mouth melted under David’s. Nothing had ever felt so perfect, and when he was sure he would combust, David pressed him back against the table, kissing him harder, hands framing his face. Kurt whimpered as David became more aggressive, laying him on the table, pinning him to it. Plates clinked and teacups crashed and Kurt didn’t care about any of it, because David was looking down at him with a fire in his eyes, all for him.

“I shall have you, prince, if you allow,” David said in a voice unusually thick.

Kurt had no real idea what he meant, thought perhaps it was love, and began to reply when the door behind them opened. David jumped away faster than a jackrabbit. Kurt was a little slower to react, though no less embarrassed. He pulled himself up by his elbows and looked right into the livid face of his aunt.

That had been that.

David was gone the following day. Kurt railed against his aunt, convinced that David had been in the midst of confessing his love. Sue would hear none of it, nor would she offer any explanation to David’s whereabouts. She forbade Kurt from entering into sexual contact with another man or his fate would be that of David’s, and for his tantrum he received ten lashes to his behind like a child.

Kurt took the lashings and proudly did not shed a single tear. He was furious. He vowed to do exactly the opposite of what his aunt wanted, Sylvester lineage be damned.

His punishment and reason for David’s disappearance (implied as forced relocation to the opposite end of the kingdom) became prime gossip. It was much easier to find the boys in his class who were interested by the longing, lingering looks they sent him now that they _knew_. It was difficult to secret away and meet them, but he managed it, stolen kisses and nearly chaste caresses in dark corners and empty rooms. He never allowed it to go further, was scared of what further entailed. The kissing alone seemed to satisfy him.

He had been found with David, not more than a month later, with Vale, and finally Jack, who was the last straw.

\----

Kurt, surrounded by half a dozen guards like he’s done something _wrong_ , is being lead to the Gate.

The kingdom is on a land mass much like a very large hill or mountain, almost an island among ocean and jungle. There are two ways out, one, through the Drawbridge, which leads out to the ocean and the source of much of their food. Two, through the Gate, which leads to the Bridge, which leads out into the Wild.

 _No one_ who has gone into the Wild has ever returned.

The Wild is comprised of dense jungle which Kurt has only ever seen out the castle windows. Miles of green dotted with reds and pinks and blues of birds, crowned by the horizon. And that is it. Kurt has heard tales of vicious animals the size of wagons, of trickster ground that swallows you up when you step on it, of trees with living vines that will hang you by your neck ‘til you’re out of breath for good. He doesn’t know whether to believe them or not, because he has never spoken with a person who has actually been there. These are childhood stories told around the fireplace or before bed, warnings to mind manners and do as you’re told or you’ll be put out in the Wild never to be seen from again. In truth, only criminals are banished. Criminals, and Kurt Hummel.

“I’m real sorry about this, Porcelain, but you disobeyed me three times, and that’s three times too many,” Sue says from atop her horse, where it clops along next to the guards.

Kurt keeps his head held high and eyes forward, not sparing one look for her. “I hardly count _kissing_ as a criminal offense.”

“It’s bad for the family name. It makes _me_ look bad, and we can’t have that, Porcelain.”

“Stop calling me that,” Kurt snaps.

Sue sighs. “If only you could have found a nice girl to fool around with. You aren’t too young to produce an heir, after all—”

“I’m not interested in a single girl in this entire kingdom. They’re all ugly and _soft_.”

“And out _there_ is preferable to one of my girls?”

She must mean her Cheerios, a small group of young women trained in entertainment and servitude. Never on Kurt’s life. He snorts, pulls a face. “You sent David out there, didn’t you? I’d thought maybe you just sent him to the other side of the kingdom, but you didn’t, did you?” Kurt asks.

He doesn’t have to look to see the expression on Sue’s face, he can imagine it from her silence.

“Fine,” Kurt continues, staring at the Gate as it comes into view. “I’ll find David and we’ll be happy. I don’t need your kingdom. We’ll have a life out there and no one will care, because we’re in _love_ —”

Sue barks out a laugh. “You think that boy _loved_ you? Oh, Porcelain, oh you poor, naïve child.  You aren’t going to last a minute out there. I think I actually feel a little _bad_ —”

But Kurt has stopped listening to her, watching with wide eyes as eight guards raise the Gate. It takes four on each side and all of them are straining against the weight. The Gate is impenetrable, taller than two houses put together and made of the strongest metal, flanked by the Wall, which is just as solid and made of stone. The chains are loud, the screech of metal against stone louder, and before he realizes it he’s being ushered forward by the small of his back.

He doesn’t mean to, told himself he wouldn’t, but he looks back at his aunt Sue. Her face is somber and she shakes her head. “Goodbye, Porcelain.”

Kurt spits his disgust and receives a shove, sending him stumbling. He falls to the ground and there is a sudden, almost deafening crash behind him as the Gate slams back down.

He is alone.

An impossibly long bridge stretches out in front of him. It’s made of wooden planks and ropes, and hangs limp, drooping in the middle. Kurt can’t help but wonder how such a bridge was constructed and hung from either side, the divide so wide and deep. Below, there is a steep fall of cliff and trees, and what sounds like a river. Looking down is enough to make Kurt’s stomach do flips, so as he starts to cross it’s a wonder he remembers to put one foot in front of the other at all. The bridge sways as he walks, some of the planks very clearly rotten, but where else can he go?

Kurt clutches his small bag of belongings and sings a song under his breath to try and distract himself, “ _Rock a’bye baby in the tree tops, when the bough breaks, the cradle will fall_ —no, that’s no good.”

By the time he makes it to the other side, Kurt is sweating, hands shaking from nerves. He falls to his knees, digging his fingers into the soil and growth as proof he’s on solid ground, and very nearly loses his breakfast. The enormity of his situation hits him hard. He has never been out of civilization, he has never been alone. Ahead of him are trees towering higher than the castle walls, foliage so dense it could be hiding anything, and the barest hint of a path that probably hasn’t seen more than criminals and his poor David in years.

Kurt feels a sudden sharp rage build that they would do this to him— _him_ – and searches his bag for a knife. He’ll cut the ropes of the bridge so they can’t do this to anyone else, he’ll show them, he will. But Kurt is not as prepared as he should be. All he has is a small pocketknife, and the ropes are so thick and tight, having been wound and pinned for such a long time that when he begins to cut into it he barely makes an indentation. He saws and saws to no avail, becomes so angry he throws the knife in frustration.

Right off the side of the cliff.

Kurt screams something short and unintelligible. He can’t do this. His heart is beating so hard and fast it’s hard to breathe. Kurt grabs his bag up and all but runs back across the bridge, causing it to rock dangerously. He pays it no heed, coming to a halt when he’s reached the castle gate. He pounds on the metal with the sides of his fists.

“Aunt! Aunt, please! Guards! Let me back in! I’ll do anything you say! I’ll sleep with any woman you choose! Please!”

Kurt pounds and screams until his hands and throat are numb and the sun is setting beyond the trees. He slumps down and huddles in on himself against the dark, whimpering and trying to keep his sobs at bay.

It’s a long, sleepless night.

\----

In the morning Kurt still feels unwilling to move, but it’s thoughts of David that stir him. He finds himself wondering what David did in this very situation, and it’s that thought, that small but blossoming hope that he may find David, that finally sets his feet in motion.

He’s back across the bridge in no time, once more faced with the Wild, the terrible unknown.

Kurt takes a breath and steps gingerly onto the path. He takes one timid step, then another, and when nothing happens his confidence grows enough to carry him at a steady pace. The path eventually tapers off into nothing, brush and undergrowth consuming it, swallowing it up the way the Wild swallows Kurt. He is frightened, every noise making him jump. He tries to walk as fast as he can, calling David’s name in an uncertain voice, wanting to find David but afraid of alerting any of the fabled giant animals to his presence.

He walks for what must be miles, he walks until his feet hurt. He walks until he’s half-delirious from fatigue. He walks until he hears a strange sound from behind him. Kurt stops, turns to look with a frightened sounding, “David?” and then there is pain, and everything goes black.


	2. Chapter 2

Kurt wakes to a splitting headache.

He’s in a dimly lit room. A sweeping glance tells him it’s unfamiliar, which shouldn’t come as such a surprise, considering he will never see home again. A wave of sadness washes over him, so intense it leaves him feeling hollowed out and raw. His breath catches in his throat and he moves to sit up, wincing in pain. It’s only his head that hurts, and he doesn’t know why. He remembers he was in the jungle, and now he’s here with no idea where _here_ is or how he got here in the first place. He reaches a hand up to feel the back of his head, fingers skimming along his scalp until he finds a small, but distinct, bump. Had he fallen? Had someone knocked him out?

Kurt’s eyes adjust as he looks around. He’s on a large bed in a room made of wood. The room seems well-built, sturdy at least, but almost crude and not at all to the standards he’s accustomed. It appears circular, extending beyond either side of him as though he’s on the outer edge of a coin. Aside from his bed the only other piece of furniture in sight is a simple rocking chair. There’s a door to his left and an open window with a plain bolt of cloth hanging down to act as a curtain. Enough light is filtering in that Kurt can tell it’s still daytime, perhaps late afternoon. If it’s even still the same _day_.

Whatever loneliness he’d been feeling ebbs away to make room for fear, the kind that makes his hands go clammy and hair stand on end. Whose house is this, and how did he get here? David has been gone two months, tops, did he build this place? With what tools? Or has Kurt been captured by some madman who will fatten him up and eat him like the storybook children he remembers from his own childhood?

“H-hello?” Kurt calls out, silently cursing the way his voice wavers.

No one answers, so he slips from bed, relieved to find himself in his own clothing. His bag and shoes have been laid out on the floor and he scoops the bag up, slips the shoes on, cringing at how sore the soles of his feet are. He decides to worry about that later and creeps to the door, intending on making a run for it.

There’s something queer about the sight outside, but Kurt doesn’t realize why until he steps through the doorframe. Thank gods there is a ledge, because otherwise he would be nothing more than a splatter on the ground.

It isn’t a house - it’s a _tree_ house.

Kurt is so high up it makes his knees weak. His hand reaches out and grips the doorway, then lets go as he collapses in an ungraceful heap. A treehouse with no way down. Kurt takes a steadying breath and a closer look. The surrounding trees have similar houses built among their branches. Some are circular, wrapped around the tree as this one must be, some a more traditional rectangular house shape. Every house but his is joined to its neighbor by a hanging bridge not unlike the one he crossed to get to this godsforsaken jungle in the first place. There are rope and plank ladders hanging from the houses, again, all but his. He’s stuck. A prisoner.

“Hey!” Kurt calls out, sending a few birds flying. “I haven’t done anything!” He frowns, stops, and listens for a sign of life. “I don’t have any money! I’m of no use to you! Let me go!”

His voice and ire grow with each shout until finally a head peeks out of a house on his left. It’s a woman with light brown skin and black hair. Kurt gasps in surprise. He has never seen hair that dark before, but he’s denied a better look because she’s gone in a flash, descending the rope ladder with practiced ease.

“Help!” Kurt tries instead, yells it a dozen times, giving up when there is no response, slumping back to the floor. When the dark haired girl doesn’t return, Kurt gives up and goes back to the bed, sitting on the edge. What do they want with him? What could he possibly offer?

There is a loud _thunk_ and Kurt jumps, gaze moving to the door. _Did someone just throw something at the wall?_

Breath held in fearful anticipation, Kurt stands, staring at the open doorway. A man appears and Kurt nearly falls back onto the bed. The man’s hair is short, curly and dark, as dark as the woman Kurt had seen earlier. He’s muscled, though not overly so, tan and shirtless, wearing only a simple pair of pants. The man hoists himself fully onto the ledge, eyes trained on Kurt. He stands, revealing bare feet and broad shoulders, a body that leaves Kurt breathless. But the real shock is the man’s eyes. Kurt can see them clearly as he approaches. They are golden, a golden brown Kurt has never seen on a person before, framed by thick lashes. He is unlike anyone from Kurt’s kingdom.

He’s beautiful.

Kurt is so struck by his beauty that he doesn’t even register that the man is right in front of him until a hand raises to his own face, brushing his hair back. The man’s eyes are locked on his, intense in a way that reminds Kurt of the time David came for tea. It stirs something hot and unnamable inside of him. Kurt pulls back as though physically burned, but there isn’t anywhere for him to go. The backs of his knees hit the mattress and he sits without meaning to.

He jumps to his feet, blushing of embarrassment, and the man smiles in response, curiously. Kurt fixes him with a stern look, arms crossed. “No thank you. Who are you and why have you brought me here?”

The man is still smiling faintly, an amused sort of expression that only infuriates Kurt further. The man answers, and the words that pour from his mouth are nothing but gibberish.

“Are you _slow_?” Kurt asks, eyes narrowing.

The man looks down, still smiling, and pulls Kurt’s arms apart, palms circling and sliding down, past Kurt’s wrists. He’s staring at their now joined hands with a fond expression, continuing whatever it is he’s saying in a language that surely can’t be human.

“ _Excuse_ me,” Kurt snaps, yanking his hands out of the man’s grasp. The man looks up, his once smiling face now drawn in frustration, perhaps at his inability to communicate. He says something else, but again, Kurt doesn't understand it. Kurt makes a face and tries to edge away, but the man is undeterred and leans in, pressing his mouth to Kurt’s in a kiss, one hand curling around the side of Kurt’s neck. It happens so fast. Kurt is unable to get away before contact is made, but once his brain catches up with his body he lets out an undignified squeak, pushing his arms forward as forcefully as he can, pushing the man right off him.

“I don’t even know your name!”

There’s an angry frown on the man’s face, but his eyebrows are drawn up, and his _eyes_. They look hurt. Kurt almost falls for it, almost softens, but not a moment later and the man is saying something and leaning back in and _no_. Kurt’s reflexes are faster this time. He pulls his hand back and slaps the man right across the face, enough to leave his palm lightly stung.

The man’s reflexes are just as quick. He grabs Kurt’s wrist, and Kurt is _really_ frightened now because there is no doubt that he isn’t as strong, not nearly, and _oh gods above what is going to happen to him?_ But the man lets go and backs off, eyes gone from hurt, to stunned, and body tense.

“I don’t even know your _name_ ,” Kurt repeats, face hot with anger of his own. “You don’t just go around kissing people without permission!”

Kurt’s exclamation is met with silence. The man looks like he’s about to say something, and even looks a little guilty, but after another moment of staring, he lowers himself and begins to descend the ladder. Kurt curses under his breath and hurries over, realizing he’s missed his chance to escape. _Stupid, stupid_.

He tries instead to bring down the ladder and send the man falling, but the top of the ladder, a thick rope, is slung over a peg built into the porch. He pushes ineffectually at the rope, but with the man’s weight on the ladder it’s impossible for him to move it. The man is looking up at him and as soon as his feet touch the ground he gives the ladder a pull. It pops off the peg and fells to the ground, thwarting Kurt’s only chance to get away.

“Maybe I’ll just _jump!_ ” Kurt screams down.

The man gives him one last look before disappearing from view.

Kurt stares at the ground below until the vertigo becomes too much, sending him shuffling back into the room in defeat, stomach twisting in an awful, uneasy way. The man’s good looks are entirely wasted because he’s a barbarian who can’t talk, and he’s keeping Kurt trapped like a caged bird. It isn’t _fair_ , Kurt does not deserve this, and he sniffles a little, curling in on himself on the bed.

\----

Exhausted physically and emotionally, Kurt has nearly succumbed to sleep, when he hears that same _thunk_ as earlier. He stirs, sitting up in bed and looking toward the door.

“Unless you have come to court me like a true gentleman, I’m not interested!” he calls, and stands, prepared this time to watch for any possible moment of escape.

It isn’t a dark head of curly hair that pops into view this time, but long and fair, the blonde that he is used to. Even his hair, a light brown, is considered rare. The eyes that meet his are blue, the face female, and when it’s within view, a very pregnant stomach.

Kurt automatically moves a step forward to help the woman, but she eases herself up as though it’s nothing, clearly capable with or without him.

She stands at full height and they gaze at each other for a long moment.

“Hello,” she says. “I hear you might need my help.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

“Oh thank gods,” Kurt exhales, relieved to see one of his people, and not just that, but one willing to help him. He moves toward the door. “Let’s go, we need to hurry before he returns—”

The woman’s eyebrows raise and she reaches back, pushing the rope from its peg with her foot. Kurt hears the ladder fall to the ground with a soft _thwack_. “Not so fast.”

Kurt feels the blood drain from his face. “But—”

“We aren’t _leaving_. I came here to talk.” There’s something almost sarcastic in her voice, something almost _amused,_ like he’s a simple child.

“There is nothing to talk _about_. I’ve been kidnapped!”

“And _who_ have you been kidnapped _from_?” she asks, hands on her hips.

“From…from freedom!” Kurt exclaims.

The woman rolls her eyes. _Rolls her eyes_. Kurt huffs, resisting the urge to stomp his foot.

“Honestly, you’re free to leave at any time,” she says, going over to the rocking chair. She drags it closer and sits with a relieved sigh.

“How about now, then?” Kurt asks.

“We should talk first. Sit.”

Kurt’s cheeks warm. He sits on the bed, folding his hands in his lap. If he is at her mercy at least he can show her that she is speaking with someone of high class. “So talk.”

The woman’s eyes look skyward a moment before she speaks. “You came from the east, right? The Walled kingdom?”

“Yes, of course.”

“So have you ever been outside the kingdom?”

Kurt’s eyes narrow. “I’ve been to the town of Apris—”

“No, I mean have you ever been beyond the Wall?”

“No, of course not! I’m not a _criminal_. My aunt and I merely had a dispute, and—”

“Slow down, we can talk about that later if you want. My point is, there’s an entire world out here that I bet you know nothing about.”

“I do so!” Kurt says indignantly. “The moving vines. The large cats. The people-eating…people.” He glares at her belly.

The woman lets out a small laugh, making Kurt scowl. “If a vine moves it is likely because it’s a snake, not a vine at all. There are indeed large cats, and I’ve heard tales of cannibals, but I’ve never met one — the point, again, is that there are dangers you are not equipped for. We haven’t kidnapped you, we’ve _saved_ you.

 “Blaine was tracking you for half a mile. He could see plain as day how vulnerable you were, so he brought you here. Had we left you the ladder, you probably would have run right back out into the jungle, correct?”

Kurt is without words, feeling suitably cowed, trying his best to process what she’s telling him. He knows he has no reason to trust her, but she speaks his language and she’s pregnant, and somehow that kind of makes him feel like she's telling the truth. He nods.

“Right.” She sighs. “And you don’t even have flint for fire, a canteen, or a weapon?”

Kurt doesn’t want to linger on the subject of what a warrior he _isn’t_. “If I am free to leave, can I go somewhere _civilized_?”

The woman’s mouth quirks. “Define civilized.”

“Somewhere people don’t live in trees and walk around _shirtless_.”

Her lips purse around a smile, looking very much like she’s trying to hold back a laugh. “You could, but it would be a long journey and I wouldn’t advise taking it alone. Although there aren’t any ‘moving vines’, there are dangerous animals and people. The walled kingdom is the closest, and they’ll never take you back.”

Hope is slipping away each time the woman opens her mouth. Kurt doesn’t want to spend the rest of his days living with these tree-dwellers, eating berries picked from bushes around a campfire and not having anything fine to wear. It isn’t right to live like this.

“How do you know?” he asks, meaning for it to sound angry, but he just ends up sounding depressed.

“They don’t allow outsiders, ever.”

“But I’m not—”

“You are now.”

The finality in her voice stops Kurt from pressing the issue, the sadness in her eyes. “Are you from there?” he asks quietly.

“Nevermind it. What’s your name?” she asks.

Kurt feels a twinge of annoyance at his question being dismissed. He huffs a little, but she glares at him, so he gives in and answers. “Kurt Hummel.”

His name sounds good rolling off his tongue. For so long his aunt had insisted his name was Kurt Sylvester, _made_ him use it, which he had always resented. It was bad enough his mother and father were taken from him, but their name as well? Now, out here in the middle of nowhere, at least he can take back that part of himself.

“I’m Quinn Fabray,” she says. “Blaine, who brought you here, told me to tell you he apologizes for his… aggressive way of bringing you here. He had a feeling you were from the kingdom and said he couldn’t count on you being fluent in our language and not mistakenly attacking him or freaking out.”

Kurt snorts quietly, though he does secretly know that if a strange man had appeared out of nowhere, he would have been frightened. Gods know he wouldn’t be very efficient at _attacking_. More offensive than anything, though, was the presumption that that this Blaine thought he could just _kiss_ Kurt as he pleased. “Is that all he apologized for?” Kurt asks.

“Yes. He also asked me to teach you Maelin.”

Of course that scoundrel didn’t apologize for the kiss. Kurt is about to give Quinn an earful about what Blaine did, when he realizes what she just said. “Maelin?”

“The language we speak here, it’s a common language. I’m the only one that knows your language fluently. A few others speak a little, but not enough to teach you.”

“Is that what the man—Blaine, was speaking earlier? It sounded like jumbled words,” Kurt says.

“Maelin is very similar sounding, and many translations are direct—”

“I’ve never even heard another language before today. What makes you think I can learn it?” Kurt crosses his arms. “Let alone want to.”

“Well, if you are as smart as you are stubborn you shouldn’t have any trouble.”

“I’m not—”

“And if you ever want to speak with anyone outside your walled kingdom it would be in your best interest to learn it.”

Kurt’s face falls in defeat, shoulders slumping. “Fine,” he says dully.

Quinn asks if he would like to start the lessons tomorrow, but as much as Kurt would like to rest, he would like to be able to communicate even more. So Quinn retrieves some kind of jerky, bread, and water for them to eat while she teaches him. He wants to refuse the food, but her remark about his stubbornness sticks in his head. Beyond that, he is actually extremely hungry. Despite the hollow feeling of his stomach, he eats in dainty bites with all the manners that have been drilled into him since childhood. Quinn goes over simple words and common phrases, like hello and good morning and thank you, makes him repeat them again and again and again. She says she doesn’t want to try and teach him too much at once, or he’ll never retain it.

As the day goes on, Kurt’s headache lessens. Maelin really _is_ similar to his language and he’s beginning to catch on. He’s always done well in school, prides himself on his intelligence because so few of his classmates from families of power like his ever excel. They are lazy because they are spoiled. They may accuse him of the same, but he does not equate himself with them. He likes having superiority over others. The look on their faces when he wins a fencing match, when he receives top marks in mathematics, when he wears the latest fashion made from the most expensive cloth. People never underestimate you if they know you’re the best, and Kurt always wants to be the best.

Quinn leaves when dusk arrives, the sky’s clear blue melting into vibrant hues of indigo and purples, lightning bugs occasionally floating in through the open doorway to explore the house. She leaves the ladder in place, and Kurt stares at it for a few minutes. Even after Quinn’s logic and warnings, he considers leaving, but it is nearly nightfall and everything out here feels like a different world. It’s too open and wide and foreign. Kurt steps to the window and looks out at the ring of small fires in a clearing below, people coming and going, the smell of roasting meat and vegetables making his mouth water. He wonders if anyone will remember him up here, bring him something to eat. He wonders if he’s expected to go down and help himself. They are, most of them, dark-haired and strange, and if he listens closely he can hear them talking and understands very little of it.

He abandons the window and that world for the bed, gently shooing a lightning bug from his pillow before lying down, letting his mind wander. He forces away the feeling of homesickness that clenches his stomach and makes his eyes burn. He forces away thoughts of David and thoughts of that man with the honey-colored eyes-- especially of him. _Blaine_ , Quinn had said. Such a fine sounding name for someone so crude. Kurt wonders if he’ll be back, and falls asleep staring at the open doorway, the muted sounds of the community below floating along the wind like a strange lullaby.

\----

 _David has come for tea. Neither of them care to drink it, though, not when they could be doing other things. David’s arms are around Kurt’s waist, pulling him close and kissing him. Soft kisses all over his face, down his neck. That’s a peculiar place to kiss someone and Kurt tells him so, but David doesn’t pay any attention, just keeps kissing, and_ —

Kurt’s eyes open. The room is dark and too warm. It’s a nice warmth, though, and at first it’s almost comforting as his surroundings come into focus. He’s in the treehouse and—

There are arms around his middle, a body snug against his back, and a mouth kissing his neck. The kisses from his dream are _real_. They feel better than in the dream. The soft press of lips along his skin sends tiny shivers down his body, and Kurt realizes with a horrified start that his penis is hard.

When this happens, usually in the morning, it is uncomfortable and strange every time. Kurt had asked one of the nurses what it meant, once, and she had laughed and told him not to worry about it, that it was just nature. Not only was that not an explanation, but the laugh had left him feeling humiliated. Kurt had been feeling self-conscious enough, and after the nurses’ reaction he was too embarrassed to inquire further.

Kurt feels more embarrassed than ever now and wriggles in Blaine’s arms. Blaine makes a low, questioning sound, and Kurt feels a hand right there over his pants, right where he is _stiff_ , and _oh_.  Kurt freezes in confusion, held in thrall by the curious feeling from Blaine’s touch. It’s like an itch being scratched, the beginning of some strange pleasure unfurling. Blaine moans softly in approval and scrapes his teeth down the bony column of the back of Kurt’s neck. His hand _moves_ , sending another jolt through Kurt’s body, making Kurt want to arch forward into it. Kurt lets out a tiny, surprised whimper, and remembers himself. He struggles to escape Blaine’s hold, scrambling out of bed when Blaine’s arms loosen.

“ _No_ ,” Kurt says, follows up with an even more forceful _no_ in Maelin. His penis _aches_ and his heart is racing. He doesn’t know what that was about, but Blaine is not his anything and Kurt does not want to kiss him. He says this to himself a few times to make it clear, fists clenching, especially when he looks at Blaine. Blaine is still lying in bed, propped up on his elbow, eyes following Kurt’s movements. His curls are tousled and he’s frowning like Kurt’s betrayed him, but Kurt hasn’t done anything. He would have thought the slap from the day before would have sent the message that he is _not interested_.

Kurt crosses his arms, attempting to ignore the embarrassing bulge in his pants and the probable flush to his cheeks. His hair is likely a mess and his breath probably smells of skunk, and no one should be allowed to see him this way.

“I don’t want to kiss you,” Kurt says. “And I don’t want you to kiss me. Or touch me. Understand?”

Blaine doesn’t, of course, rising from bed, and oh gods he isn’t wearing a thing. Kurt’s eyes are drawn to Blaine’s noticeably erect penis. In a weird way it almost makes Kurt feel better, knowing he isn’t the only one with this affliction, but at the same time he’s still unnerved to see Blaine completely nude.

Thankfully he doesn’t have to try and ask Blaine to put pants on. Blaine pulls a pair on before approaching him, a questioning look in his eyes.

“What?” Kurt asks, searching his mind for its Maelin counterpart. He knows he’s learned this one. “ _What?”_

Blaine’s face lights up when Kurt says it in his language, and it’s enough to both melt Kurt’s nervous insides and make him want to never speak a word of it again. Blaine’s approach doesn’t let up, either, and with each step closer Kurt takes another step back, until his shoulders bump into the wall and there’s nowhere left to go. Blaine crowds in close, studying his face with a soft smile. Blaine says something in Maelin with _Kurt_ at the end, and hearing his name with this strange lilt on the R makes him blush.

Blaine leans in to kiss him, and Kurt lets out a frustrated sound, bringing his hand up to cover Blaine’s mouth.

“ _Blaine, no,_ ” he says in Maelin, making himself sound as fierce as possible. Blaine pulls back with those hurt eyes again and Kurt groans, exasperated. “Look, maybe it’s okay in your culture to find boys in the Wild and drag them off to kiss them, but it’s not okay where I come from! In fact, it’s practically against the law, so if you wouldn’t mind I would like some _space_.”

Kurt edges away from the wall and picks up his bag for something to hold between himself and Blaine. He grabs it wrong and its contents spill out, clattering to the floor. There isn’t much, but Kurt crouches immediately to gather it all up. Blaine crouches, too, retrieving Kurt’s favorite book and giving it a curious look. Kurt huffs and snatches it from him.

“Mine.” Kurt stuffs the book back in the bag. Blaine’s eyebrows raise and he picks up Kurt’s mirror next. “Mine,” Kurt says again, taking the mirror from him. Blaine grins and picks up one of Kurt’s shirts. “ _Mine!_ Honestly, Blaine, I can do this myself.”

Blaine ignores him, though, and scoots closer, looking at Kurt from beneath his lashes.  “Mine,” he says, pressing a hand to Kurt’s chest.

Heat floods Kurt’s face and he stares at Blaine. “I—I am _not_ ,” he finally protests, trying to ignore the way Blaine’s gaze makes his stomach do somersaults.

Blaine’s fingers trail down Kurt’s cheek and he stands, stepping back. He gives Kurt one last smile before descending down the rope ladder.

When Kurt’s heart calms down he realizes Blaine has taken the ladder with him.

“Not a prisoner, my ass.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

Quinn returns the next day with freshly cooked food. There’s a pulley system with a basket over the ledge of the porch, and Kurt’s mouth is watering from the smell as it lifts higher and higher. They don’t talk while they eat - bird of some kind and roasted vegetables – and Kurt is so hungry that it’s difficult to remember his manners.

“I told Blaine I’d warned you about going into the jungle, so the rope ladder will be there from now on, okay?” Quinn says when she seems to have had her fill of sweet potato.

“How benevolent of him,” Kurt says dryly.

“Now, don’t be like that. He was a little sore I hadn’t told you a few other things, though. So, he asked me to relay this message.”

Kurt raises an eyebrow, indicating that he’s listening.

“Blaine would like you to be his mate, and he wants you to understand that he’s leader of our community,” Quinn says.

Kurt balks. “ _That’s_ never going to happen, and why should I care that he’s the leader? Is he trying to _order_ me to be with him?”

“No, don’t be dramatic.” Quinn smiles fondly. “I think he wants to…impress you.”

“Why would being the leader of a group of primitive tree-dwellers impress me?”

“Look, Kurt. I understand you didn’t ask for this. I understand you’re homesick and probably scared—” Kurt huffs. “—But this group of ‘primitive tree-dwellers’ _saved my life_ , and more than likely saved yours, so you need to start showing a little respect. We aren’t _animals_.”

Kurt’s face heats up to hear Quinn’s voice raised, for her to scold him like he’s a child. He runs a hand down his sleeve, and then the other, folding his hands primly on his lap. He puffs up his chest with faux bravado.

“I’m not scared,” he says haughtily. “And besides, it’s hard to find respect for a man who keeps trying to force kisses on me.”

“He tried to kiss you?” Quinn grimaces and sighs. “I’ll tell him to stop.”

 “Yes, well.” It’s all Kurt can find to say at the moment, not wanting to admit that Blaine hadn’t merely _tried_ , he _had_ , complete with inappropriate touching.

“There is a distinct difference between the way people here view coupling and the way you’re probably used to. It was a bit of a surprise for me when I was new here, too. People here are very…open. There isn’t a lot of shame involved with those matters,” Quinn says, and Kurt can tell she’s struggling to explain.

“I would just assume a person should ask another if they want such things. It’s only polite,” Kurt says importantly, hoping he isn’t blushing.

“Of course, Kurt. I’ll let him know,” she says, settling in her rocking chair. “Shall we get on with your lesson?”

Kurt listens, repeats, and memorizes to the best of his ability, scribbling much of it down with the ink and parchment he’d packed. He pays close attention, his mind wandering just a few times. He doesn’t know what to make of Blaine wanting to be his mate. Is it really so simple here? A person merely picks another, and that’s that?  Kurt always assumed marriage, unless it was arranged, was a decision made over time, and that it required love, or at least good breeding. That last one was what Sue said, anyway. Men can’t carry children, so genes can’t be a factor for Blaine, and Kurt is fairly certain Blaine can’t be in love with him. Blaine hasn’t even brought him flowers or candy. Kurt would probably accept a poem. Or…

“Quinn,” Kurt interrupts. “Do you have tea here?”

“Yes, would you like some?”

“Not at the moment, but maybe when we’re finished.”

 Quinn opens her mouth, presumably to continue his lesson, but Kurt speaks up again. “Quinn?”

“ _Yes_ , Kurt?”

“Is there someone named David here?” Kurt asks, the question coming out in a rush. He’s been afraid to ask, too afraid the answer will be no. “He would be new by a few months.”

Quinn’s eyes lower, lips pursing, and it tells Kurt enough. His heart sinks.

“There hasn’t been anyone new in at least a year—hey,” she says, reaching out and laying a hand on his knee. She gives it a light squeeze. “He could have gone in another direction.”

Kurt nods, but all he can picture is David out there alone in the Wild, lost and scared.

“He’s a friend?”

“Of a sort,” Kurt says.

“I had to leave behind some dear friends as well,” Quinn says, absently rubbing a hand over her belly. “One was like a sister to me. I had an actual older sister, but it wasn’t the same. She didn’t know me like my best friend did, you know?”

Kurt nods like he does, but David was probably his only friend, and that wasn’t saying much. The only time Kurt had actually spent with David, thwarted tea party aside, were the walks to and from choir practice. That’s a lousy excuse for friendship. Kurt wanting it to be real hadn’t made it so, much as he tried. Friends were supposed to talk about anything and everything, share experiences and understand each other. Kurt realizes with a sudden, sharp pang that he’s never had that. Since the death of his parents, which feels like a lifetime ago, Kurt hasn’t had _anyone_.

The emotion must be showing on his face, because when he looks up he sees Quinn’s expression is one of abject sympathy. His cheeks flush and he looks away. He doesn’t want that from her.

“I don’t miss anyone,” he says stubbornly.

“It’s okay. You’ll make new friends here, if you let yourself,” Quinn says in this annoyingly gentle voice that he hates.

“I’ve had enough for today.”

“Kurt—”

“I have a headache,” he snaps.

There’s a long moment of silence between them, and then Quinn gives in. “Alright. I’ll see you tomorrow, Kurt.”

Kurt doesn’t answer, and only when she’s out of sight does he finally allow himself to sink to the floor, arms wrapped around his stomach as though he’s holding himself together. He can still see her face in his mind and he curses softly under his breath that he can’t rid himself from the image of it. He doesn’t want her to look at him that way, like there is something wrong with him, like he is so inept he can’t even make a _friend_. The worst part is that she doesn’t even really know, mistaking his loneliness as something new when it’s been here the whole time. It’s just harder to ignore -- heightened tenfold, here -- where he can’t speak the language and doesn’t know the culture.

Back home he told himself he was better than everyone, that they didn’t deserve to speak to him. He thinks back to their disdainful looks he’d dismissed as jealousy, their snickering and whispered comments as he passed. He allowed himself to be flattered that he was so above them that they wouldn’t even approach him. He had believed them to be envious. Hadn’t he?

It hits him like a punch to the gut. They weren’t intimidated by him, they simply didn’t like him. They _didn’t_. He knows the truth now, remembering how Randall’s nose wrinkled in disgust when Kurt asked him a question about their calligraphy assignment, remembers how Susan wouldn’t pass him a book when they were being handed out, how no one would sit by him, how no one would pass to him in lacrosse. The only time anyone had shown a sliver of interest in him was after they found out about his scandal with David. He thought those boys liked him, but wonders now if it had been more of a dare for them, some kind of thrill. Kiss Sue’s favorite and see if you get away with it. None of them had asked for his company afterward.

Kurt finally picks himself off the floor. He crawls into bed, burying himself in the soft animal hide blankets. It’s hot and humid and sweat is already dotting his hairline, but he doesn’t care, he wants to hide away and be forgotten. He hates the world all the more for hating him. The feeling of desolation is enough to make his eyes burn with the promise of tears, but he won’t let them out. He cried that first night in the Wild and he won’t repeat it. Kurt Hummel does not cry. Not for anyone, certainly not for himself.

After hours of willing himself to sleep, and failing at it, the smell of cooked food wafts along in the breeze. Kurt ignores it. He has no appetite and no desire for looks of derision from an entirely new group of people. As dusk falls Kurt finds himself unable to get his mind away from these lonely thoughts no matter how hard he tries to think of other things. Thoughts of David make it worse, thoughts of his parents unbearably so. Kurt squeezes his eyes closed and casts his mind away, toward chess moves and fencing strategies.

It is no use, and when he feels at the absolute lowest point of despair, there is a sudden pressure around his middle, dragging him from his thoughts and from the haze of impending sleep.

“Wha—” Kurt rolls to his back, pulling the blankets from over his head, confused.

“ _Kurt_.”

Kurt is met with Blaine’s smiling face, nestled in next to him under the hides. He hadn’t even heard him climb up. Blaine’s arm is around him and his eyes are filled with a warmth Kurt can’t define. It takes the fight right out of him, inexplicably magnifying his heartache to the point that he’s finding it hard to breathe. When Blaine urges Kurt onto his side so that they’re face to face, Kurt lets him.

Kurt simply stares, unable to say anything meaningful in Maelin. Blaine gazes right back, his strange gold-brown eyes somehow bright in the darkened room. Blaine’s eyelashes are especially thick, framing his eyes in broad sweeps of black. Kurt is so close he can see everything, and he lets himself look this time, ignoring the small voice of dissention in the back of his head.

“You can kiss me if you want,” Kurt whispers.

Blaine can’t understand him, but maybe he sees something in Kurt’s eyes. He reaches out and touches the tips of three fingers to Kurt’s mouth, tracing the shape of his lips. His fingers trail feather-light up his cheek, along his cheekbone, to his temple. Everything inside Kurt aches, Blaine’s tender looks and touches make Kurt ache for what he’s never had. But Blaine is here. Blaine has brought him into his own home, he wants Kurt to be _his_. With Blaine, Kurt isn’t alone.

Kurt swallows past the small lump forming in his throat. “Maybe you aren’t so bad. I haven’t decided yet. It wasn’t nice of you to try and kiss me when you hadn’t asked, you know.”

Blaine just continues to look, slightly quizzical, his arm coming to rest around Kurt’s waist.

“But maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to kiss you,” Kurt murmurs, eyes lowering to study Blaine’s mouth. It _is_ awfully pretty for a Wild man.

“So bad…to kiss you,” Blaine says, and Kurt’s eyes widen in surprise.

“You know what I’m saying?”

“You know what I’m saying?” Blaine mimics slowly. He smiles cheekily, like _look what I just did_ , and Kurt rolls his eyes.

“Oh.”

“ _Oh_.”

“You’re awful, Blaine.”

Blaine looks absolutely delighted when Kurt says his name, and is quick to repeat him. “You’re awful, Blaine.”

Kurt snickers, smiling a little. “You’re magnificent, Kurt.”

“You’re magnificent, Kurt,” Blaine says, returning his smile.

Kurt laughs quietly, and Blaine’s smile brightens even more. Kurt finds himself smiling too, gazing at Blaine’s face, and clears his throat a little, blushing. “Anyway…”

Blaine opens his mouth to copy him. Kurt presses two fingers to Blaine’s lips to stop him. “ _No,_ shh,” he says in Maelin. “No more. We should just. Sleep.”

Blaine’s eyes follow Kurt’s movements as he lowers his hand. Slowly, Kurt scoots forward until his head is tucked under Blaine’s chin, face against his chest and body flush with Blaine’s. Blaine hugs him even closer than before, makes a soft, short humming sound. Kurt can hear Blaine’s heart beating and his body slowly starts to relax. He has never been held like this and he has to close his eyes against the way they sting.

“Good night, Blaine,” he whispers with feeling.

“Good night, Kurt.”


	5. Chapter 5

Blaine is gone when Kurt wakes up. The worst part is, he minds.

Kurt slowly pulls himself up until he’s sitting, and looks around. It’s stupid, and Kurt mentally berates himself for caring that his brute of a bedmate is gone. _Mate_. Kurt shakes his head, rubs a hand along his skull, tries to wake up a little more. What foolish nonsense.

He was just feeling lonely last night. It was a moment of weakness, nothing more, and it’s easy to believe when there isn’t a warm body snug against his. He looks for something else to focus on -- he’s hungry and he needs a bath. If anything has suffered by him holing up in this sad excuse for a house, it’s his hygiene.

Quinn arrives soon enough, as expected, and brings breakfast. He inquires about the bath and learns that there is a river to bathe in. Kurt’s jaw _drops_ , suitably horrified that there isn’t a basin, or at least _hot water_.  He argues with Quinn for twenty minutes about the benefits of a hot bath, which include _being clean_. She says he’s welcome to build himself a tub and heat water in a pot, but beyond that there isn’t much to be done about it. He broods over breakfast and through most of their lesson.

Toward late afternoon Quinn starts to complain about stomach pains. Kurt looks up in alarm.

“Are you going to have the baby?”

“What? No, no, it would be far too early. I think I need to go lay down, though,” she says, holding her belly.

Kurt twists the fabric of his shirt nervously. “Maybe you should just lay down here, that way you don’t have to do all that climbing.”

Quinn is already moving toward the door, though. She pauses to give Kurt a strange sort of smile. It makes him feel self-conscious and he twists the hem of his shirt a bit tighter.  “I’ll be fine, Kurt. I promise. Enjoy your free afternoon,” she says as she starts to climb down.

“Okay,” Kurt replies, quiet.

Kurt sits on the ledge and watches the people below. There isn’t much going on, and he can’t help but wonder what these people do with their days. There always seem to be so many more around in the evenings. There is a clearing below where people gather, but no one’s there now.

It is boring, and lonely, so Kurt decides to finally be done with his self-imposed isolation and find that river Quinn spoke of. She made it sound like it wasn’t so very far away, and he is beginning to _smell_.

Kurt descends the rope ladder carefully, ignoring the small swoop of his stomach every time the ladder bends from his movements. When he reaches solid earth he looks around, hands clammy and legs shaky from nerves. He feels exposed, vulnerable. There’s a girl, a short brunette, across the way, who’s looking at him curiously. He lifts his chin and lets go of the ladder, pretending he belongs, pretending he knows where he’s going.

“North and past the wood heap,” he murmurs to himself, walking briskly.

It isn’t long before Kurt hears the sound of moving water and the river comes into view. The river isn’t overly large, at least not here, yet Kurt can’t help but be intimidated. He has never swum in anything in life and he certainly doesn’t fancy the idea of touching a fish. But he is sweaty and itchy and it needs to be done, so his clothes come off and he steps into the cool depths. Cold, not cool. _Freezing_ , even. Kurt hurries and walks into deeper water, submerging himself so he can get it over with. His teeth are chattering as he scrubs his skin, his scalp, fingers getting caught in his hair in his haste.

“This is absolute _torture_ ,” he says, even if no one is around to hear it.

Once he feels he has cleaned himself as best he can without soap, Kurt hurries back to the bank. He squeezes the water from his hair, fumbles to put his clothes back on. All he wants now is to go curl up in bed where it’s warm and dry. As he is hurrying back he trips over something, and just as he hits the ground he goes flying upward with a shriek.

Rope digs into Kurt’s legs and arms where it’s supporting his weight in the middle of the air. Kurt panics and grabs at the rope, and the…whatever he’s caught in, some kind of rope net, trying to stop it from spinning.

“Help!” he calls out, looking down, searching the jungle below for a sign of anything, _anyone_.

Kurt calls out again and again, fingers clutching the rope until they’re numb. His throat has gone sore and he leans back, closing his eyes. What if no one finds him for days? He can’t be sure how frequently these people bathe.

Just when Kurt is about to start yelling again he hears rustling in the brush below. His eyes flash open and he searches the dense green for movement. “Hello?”

The net begins to lower, and Kurt sees the source of the noise. A tall man with short brown hair and a thin face is working at getting Kurt down. Kurt knows this in Maelin, so he calls out a slightly squeaky, but completely grateful, _thank you_.

The man doesn’t say anything in return until Kurt reaches the ground, the ropes draped limply over him. It’s Maelin, and Kurt can make out _you_ and _man_ and _Blaine_ , but it takes a moment for his mind to even place the words, and as a collective he doesn’t know what the man is trying to say.

The man simply circles him.

Kurt tries to say he only knows a little Maelin _in_ Maelin, but isn’t sure how well he succeeds. He ends his attempt with, “so I’m not sure what you’re saying,” in his own language, hoping it will drive the point across that he isn’t fluent.

“Mm. I talk a little your language,” the man says, surprising Kurt. His accent is much thicker than Quinn’s. He has a cocky way about him, something sleazy in his voice that makes Kurt distrustful.

“Well, what a relief,” Kurt says, either way. “Thank you for letting me down. Is this some kind of hunting trap?”

“Hunting trap, yes,” the man says, crouching down in front of Kurt. He starts cutting at the top of the net with a large knife. Kurt’s eyes bug out a little, where had he even gotten that from?

“Um, so what’s your name?” Kurt asks, sitting still as the man works at the rope.

“Sebastian.”

“I’m Kurt—”

“I know.”

Sebastian seems kind of _rude_ , but he _is_ helping Kurt out, so Kurt merely keeps his mouth shut and waits for him to finish. When the net is in a messy pile around him, Kurt stands. As he does, Sebastian takes his hands. “Uh—”

Sebastian loops a length of rope around each of his wrists. What is with these people and not asking before they do things?

“What are you doing?”

Sebastian pulls the rope tight, tying it.

“ _Ow_ —what—”

Sebastian ties them with a second rope, individual knots. Kurt struggles, but Sebastian pulls hard, making him cry out because it feels like his wrists are going to _snap_.

“You’re Blaine’s _nothing_ ,” Sebastian says, his face close, hand clamped over the ropes around Kurt’s wrists. His mouth is drawn up in a sneer, eyes sharp and locked on Kurt’s. “His _toy_.”

“ _Excuse me_ —” But Kurt ‘s protests are cut off when Sebastian grabs him up, flinging him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Kurt can hardly believe this is happening. He struggles, kicks his feet, but Sebastian holds tight.

“ _If you kick and scream I cut your belly open and feed you to the lions_ ,” Sebastian barks.

Kurt remembers Sebastian’s knife and goes still, tense and confused. “I didn’t do anything,” he ventures, meekly. “I—don’t know what you think I’ve done to Blaine—”

“Shut your mouth,” Sebastian says. “Blaine is too good for you. He need a strong mate, not a little girl.”

Kurt’s mouth opens in disbelief, momentarily forgetting the threat of knives and lions. “Girl? I’m not a _girl_.”

Any possible retorts are cut off by a booming, “ _Sebastian!”_

Kurt cranes his neck, trying to see, but Sebastian’s body is blocking him. Sebastian stops walking, freezes on the spot.

“Blaine,” Sebastian says, voice trying at placating. He says something in Maelin, but all Kurt can catch is _I_ and _him_.

Blaine replies, Kurt hears _why_ and _where_. Kurt wriggles, he can just make out Blaine standing in front of Sebastian, an expression of absolute rage on his face. Or at least that’s how it seems upside down.

Sebastian grows angry and throws his free hand up, saying something so rapidly there isn’t a chance Kurt can decipher it. Blaine laughs without humor, his reply unintelligible. Sebastian growls, and it’s all the warning Kurt has before he’s thrown down. Kurt lets out an embarrassing yelp, wincing at how hard his hip hits the ground. He hears Blaine call Sebastian’s name, and he tries to sit up to see, to get away if he has to. His leg is throbbing now and his wrists have gone numb from how tightly they’re tied.

Kurt looks up, but he barely has Blaine in his sights before Blaine is hauling him up, hands firm under his armpits. Blaine still looks angry, and Kurt tries to hide how frightened he feels, but he knows he’s doing a poor job of it. His mouth opens to speak, but Blaine is manhandling him and he loses whatever he was going to say. He stumbles, manages to get out _wait_ and is ignored, back hitting a tree trunk. “ _Blaine_ ,” Kurt exhales, but it’s swallowed up by Blaine’s mouth on his.

Kurt’s eyes close on instinct, and Blaine floods his senses. No longer does he feel the biting pull of the rope or the soreness of his hip. Everything is Blaine kissing him hard and demanding, that woodsy smell with the slight tang of sweat that is so very _Blaine_. One of Blaine’s hands is in his hair, holding almost tight enough to hurt, except it doesn’t, the pain feels _good_. Blaine’s other hand moves to Kurt’s jaw, pulling down, and at the same moment his tongue pushes into Kurt’s mouth , and that’s new, and gods what kind of kissing had he been doing that wasn’t _this_? Blaine’s tongue is warm and moving and Kurt doesn’t understand, it’s obscene and he _wants_ it. He doesn’t know why, it doesn’t matter, he wants it in his mouth, he wants to taste it with his. He submits to Blaine’s mouth, wonders if he could choke on Blaine’s tongue, the thickness of it.

Blaine stops and Kurt lets out a soft whimper, leaning forward, trying to follow Blaine’s mouth. Blaine makes a sound like a growl and drags his lips along Kurt’s jaw, breathing hot against his ear for just a moment. There’s a low rumbled, “Mine,” and then Blaine is kissing his neck. Kurt shivers and cries out softly because Blaine is pulling his hair, pulling his head back, making Kurt arch toward him. Blaine’s body presses close, only Kurt’s tied hands between them. He flexes his fingers, scrabbles for a hold on Blaine’s tunic, but Blaine pays him no mind and it only makes the ropes cut at his wrists. What began as kissing has now turned into Blaine sucking at the skin of his bared neck. Kurt’s eyes are half-closed and aimed at the sky, mouth parted in silent confusionexcitment _pleasure_. The suction gets progressively more intense and Kurt whines, gasps when Blaine yanks his hair roughly, pulling his neck taut, sucking harder. There are noises coming from Kurt he’s never heard before. There is the scrape of stubble against Kurt’s Adam’s apple, the graze of teeth along his delicate skin. Kurt’s hips jerk of their own accord, and he realizes he’s hard and there is a throbbing ache down there, and gods, Blaine presses closer, closer and Kurt can feel him suffering from the same affliction against his thigh. What does it mean? What is this and why does it feel so good and scary all at once?

Blaine abruptly lets go of Kurt’s hair and pulls back, eyes dark and mouth swollen. Kurt looks at him through a haze. He has so many questions, so much to say, but he can only look, his breathing labored, body tingling, heart pounding.

“ _Mine_ ,” Blaine repeats. He takes a knife from his belt and lifts Kurt’s wrists, cutting through the rope keeping them tied together. There is knotted rope still remaining around his wrists, perhaps too tight for Blaine to attempt just yet as he re-sheaths his weapon.

Blaine steps forward and makes to carry Kurt, and Kurt finally breaks out of his neck-kissed stupor and takes a step back. “No,” he says, voice coming out slightly hoarse. “I can walk. I’m not injured.”

Blaine can’t understand him, so Kurt walks, demonstrating his ability to remain mobile with a brief rolling of his eyes. Blaine’s stern expression lingers and he takes Kurt’s hand. Kurt lets him, Blaine leading the way back to his village. He briefly wonders if he should have fought Blaine, but he knows that Blaine won’t hurt him.

Unseen by Blaine, Kurt raises a hand to his neck where Blaine’s mouth had given such strange pleasure. He’s still half-hard, it’s like he can feel his blood pulsing through his veins. He doesn’t know what all that was for, why someone would want to do such things to another’s neck, but it felt…it felt _incredible_. Is that why he’d done it? Had he wanted to make Kurt feel good? Perhaps he wanted to distract him from what Sebastian had done. Kurt cuts Blaine’s profile a shy smile, and silently follows, picking his way carefully over the jungle floor.

\----

When they return to the village it is nearing dusk and there are many more people around than when Kurt had initially ventured out. All of them, or seemingly all of them, look over when he and Blaine come into view, and Kurt becomes all too aware of Blaine’s hand around his, guiding him like a child. Selfishly, Kurt wants to yank it away. He nearly does, but imagines it would cause even more of a spectacle, and that’s the last thing he wants. He remembers, too, how Blaine saved him. Blaine is just extending a kindness, and maybe Kurt will let him this once.

A few of the looks he’s receiving don’t seem friendly, and Kurt moves closer to Blaine, self-consciousness making him meek. He walks the rest of the way nearly pressed to Blaine’s back, wishing to shrink and hide behind him, but though Blaine is stockier and stronger, Kurt is taller and it’s almost comically impossible.

There is a rush of relief when they reach Blaine’s house. Blaine lets go of his hand and Kurt waits to follow him up the ladder, but Blaine turns toward him instead.

“Kurt…” He says something in Maelin, and Kurt’s face scrunches in confusion. He makes out _you_ and another word sounds familiar, but he doesn’t know and shakes his head in confusion. Blaine points to his own back and then Kurt, taking Kurt’s hands and turning so his back is once more to Kurt.

 _Oh_.

“ _There is no way_ —” But Blaine is pulling his arms and unless Kurt wants to fight him, his only other option is to wrap his arms around Blaine’s shoulders and hold on. So he does, feeling ridiculous, legs winding around Blaine’s waist as Blaine begins to carry them both up the rope ladder. It’s mortifying, honestly, but just as the contrariety of the hair pulling, it’s kind of lovely, too, and Kurt hides his face in the back of Blaine’s neck.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t be able to climb the ladder? He didn’t break my fingers, you know,” Kurt says when they’ve made it up. Blaine sets him down gently, and leads him over to the bed by both hands. Blaine sits him down, and cheeks flaming, Kurt’s eyes never leave him.

“This sudden display of affection isn’t going to make me _like you_ , you know,” Kurt adds without much conviction, and Blaine stops his words with a finger pressed to his lips.

Blaine moves away and pokes around his shelf for something, returning with a small jar and a smaller knife than before. He brings Kurt’s hands, palms up, to rest on his thighs, and gently cuts away the rope wrapped around his wrists. The skin is pink and red and rubbed fairly raw, and when Blaine accidentally presses against it with his thumb Kurt lets out a low whine.

“Sorry,” Blaine murmurs in Maelin. Blaine swipes his fingers into the jar and they come out covered in a pale greenish salve. He dabs it carefully along the injured skin of Kurt’s wrists, brows furrowed in concentration. Blaine’s touch and the cool relief of the medicine makes Kurt shiver, makes his skin tingle. Kurt sucks his lower lip into his mouth, glancing up at Blaine through his lashes. Blaine looks so much older and so masterful, even with such a small task.

When he’s finished, Blaine walks across the room and leaves the treehouse entirely. Kurt watches him disappear past the ledge and sighs, laying back on the bed for lack of anything else to do. He’s hungry, but he doesn’t want to go down there now, not after everyone watched him be carried up, not after Sebastian.

Kurt assumes Blaine isn’t coming back, so it startles him when he hears the smack of hands and feet on wood and looks over to see Blaine pulling himself up. He’s brought a basket of food with him and settles on the bed, urging Kurt to sit. Kurt obliges, his stomach rumbling and voicing his thoughts for him. Dinner appears to be hare, carrots, and grapes. Blaine tears a piece of meat free and holds it out to Kurt. Kurt reaches to take it with his fingers, but Blaine stays his hand, opening his own mouth with a quiet _ah_. Kurt stares blankly a moment, until Blaine nudges the meat against his lips. Blushing, Kurt opens his mouth and allows Blaine to slip the meat inside. He chews, licking the juice from his lip afterward, eyes on Blaine’s.

Blaine takes his turn, and continues to go back and forth between them, feeding Kurt by hand. Kurt has never been fed. Once, when he was very ill he remembers a nursemaid spoon-feeding him soup, but not since he was a child has he ever been treated so preciously.

As Kurt closes his mouth around the last piece of meat, Blaine doesn’t pull his hand back fast enough. Kurt gives the pad of Blaine’s thumb a soft kiss to thank him. Blaine smiles, but there’s an intensity to his gaze that makes Kurt lower his eyes demurely. He should feel humiliated, he isn’t an infant, he isn’t injured to the point that he can’t hold a fork. He doesn’t, though. He feels cared for.

When Blaine finishes, he holds Kurt’s hands in his and looks him in the eyes, saying something Kurt can’t discern in a quiet voice. Kurt absently shakes his head and murmurs a reply, “I don’t know what you’re saying.”

Blaine doesn’t answer. He’s so close, and the way he’s looking at Kurt, Kurt knows what’s coming. Blaine’s mouth finds his and he doesn’t try to stop him. Blaine kisses him soft and sweet, unlike earlier. Unlike the first time, unlike any of the times Kurt has ever been kissed. Blaine’s lips are so soft, Kurt loses himself in the warmth that starts at his mouth and fills his whole body. He cracks his eyes open to see the blur of colors that make up Blaine’s face, and when Blaine pulls back their eyes find each other’s. Kurt has a desperate urge to beg him back. Everything melts away when Blaine touches him, and Kurt can’t decide if it’s the best or worst part about him.

Blaine gets up, saying something Kurt can’t understand. Kurt swipes his tongue along his bottom lip, watching, wondering where Blaine’s going.  He departs down the ladder, and with his absence reality returns. Kurt looks around the empty, shadowed room. He looks down at his injured wrists. He waits up, but this time Blaine doesn’t come back.


	6. Chapter 6

Someone is singing nearby. Their sweet, clear tenor voice is carried in on the wind and brings Kurt from his bed to the window. He removes the mosquito netting and leans against the ledge, looking down. There is no one to be seen. He can’t understand the words, but he can feel their meaning; the anguish, the lonely sound. Sadness tapers off into optimism, the last few notes joyful. Maybe it’s a love song, and Kurt finds himself smiling. It’s enough to forget the dull throbbing of his wrists.

There is silence in the wake of the song. Anxious longing burns in Kurt’s chest, fills his veins. He inhales sharply and leans forward. With no one to see him, Kurt is emboldened and begins to sing in reply. The other person probably won’t understand, but it’s okay because Kurt hadn’t understood him, either.

It feels good to sing again, normal and freeing. If he closes his eyes he can just imagine the choir room, the tiered seats and high ceiling. He loved that class. He loved  _singing_ , it was the only time he felt truly comfortable in his own skin.

When he finishes, he’s met with nothing more than the sound of the breeze rustling the tree leaves. He notices Quinn on the ground coming his way and waves, but she doesn’t see him. As she gets closer she says something to someone beyond the house in Maelin, a bright smile on her face. There’s a reply, too quiet for him to make out.

Kurt calls down, “Morning!”

She looks up, shielding her eyes. “Morning. Why don’t you come down here today? You’re going to atrophy up there.”

Kurt rolls his eyes. “Fine. Give me a minute.”

He combs his fingers through his hair so it doesn’t look too awful and gathers his things, joining her on the ground. He glances around for whoever she was talking to, but there are only trees and foliage. No one to be seen.

As soon as he’s in range, Quinn hugs Kurt to her, almost fiercely. “I am _so sorry_ I didn’t warn you about the traps. And I can’t believe Sebastian, I’m just so sorry that happened to you, Kurt,” she says into his hair.

Kurt is blushing when she lets go, surprised by the hug and emotion both. “I…it’s okay, I’m okay.”

“Are you sure?” she asks, looking him over.

“Yes,” Kurt insists. And he does feel weirdly okay this morning, probably better than he has for the entirety of his time here.

“Alright. Let’s go to the fire pit,” Quinn says, leading him over. There’s a low fire burning for breakfast preparation, and he sits next to her on what looks like an upended tree trunk.

There’s a man sitting across the fire pit with bright blue eyes and dark hair, tan skin and light scruff. He’s eating something like oatmeal, and staring. He looks familiar somehow, but Kurt has obviously never met any of these people, so he makes a face at him because it is  _rude_ to stare. There are also two women, the pretty one he saw the first day with jet black hair, and another with honey blonde hair. The black haired woman is holding the other, face resting against the side of her head.

“Is everyone here gay?” he asks Quinn.

Quinn snorts, handing him a bowl of the porridge. “No, just—oh my gods, is that a  _hickey?_ ”

“A what?”

“Your  _neck_ ,” she says, reaching for his collar and tugging it down.

Kurt bats her hand away. “I don’t know what you mean—”

The man across from him says something to Quinn, and they go back and forth, laughing, and Kurt stomps his foot. “Are you going to explain?”

Quinn looks back to him in confusion. “How do you not know what I’m talking about, that thing is huge.”

Kurt just stares blankly at her.

“Do you not know what a hickey is?” she tries.

“You haven’t taught me that word yet.”

Quinn’s eyes grow wide. “It’s…not in Maelin. Oh, Kurt. Nevermind.”

“No, I want to know what you mean.” Kurt huffs and digs around in his bag. If there’s something wrong with his neck he would like to know. He brings his small mirror out and takes a look. There is a large blotchy purple mark right  _there_ , standing out in stark contrast against the pale cream of his skin. It’s right where Blaine—

Kurt lets out a small shriek. “Blaine did this to me!”

The man is laughing and the black haired girl is smirking, the other smiling, and Kurt can tell Quinn is trying very hard not to laugh. He glares at all of them. How dare they make fun of him?

“He must have been very happy to see you.  Or maybe he was making a statement. You know, hands off?” Quinn says.

“Hands off?” Kurt echoes.

“Mm. Staking a claim.”

Kurt is sure he is blushing, and jams his mirror back into his bag. “I never said I would be his mate.”

“I suppose he doesn’t want anyone trying to take you from him,” Quinn says airily.

“What, like Sebastian? What good is a bruise on my neck going to do against a sociopath?”

Quinn’s lips purse. “Good point. Well, in a romantic sense, at least. And Sebastian is gone, so you hopefully won’t have to worry about him anymore.” At Kurt’s raised eyebrows, she adds, “Blaine drove him out. He isn’t allowed here. He was up late last night, making sure everyone knew.”

“Oh,” Kurt says softly, momentarily fixed to the spot with relief. He wonders what exactly Blaine told her, if she knows everything that went on. He gingerly touches his wrist, wondering if _everyone_  knows. Enough people surely saw him and Blaine last night, and they would probably want to know why Sebastian couldn’t return. He wonders if any of them were good friends with Sebastian, if he has family here.

The man across from Kurt stands, stretches, and says something to Quinn and the other women. When he passes Kurt he claps a hand down on his shoulder. Kurt turns his head and glares at the man’s back as he walks away.

“Do we  _have_  to do this out here today?” he grumbles to Quinn.

“Kurt, I think the reason Sebastian did what he did was because he thought he could get away with it.”

Kurt doesn’t reply at first, ashamed by his own weakness. “Because I’m smaller than him?”

Quinn sighs. “No. Because you’re an  _outsider_.”

The two women start to get up, and Quinn pauses. She says something to them and they reply, leaving in the opposite direction that the man had.

Kurt hardly notices. This whole time, all he’s been able to think about is how much he doesn’t want to be here, how much he doesn’t want to know these people. But he hadn’t considered this - what if they don’t want  _him_?

He looks up at Quinn once they’re alone, solemn frown and hard eyes.

“Sebastian thought I had no right.”

“Sebastian has…had some problems before. He’s wanted Blaine for his mate for a long time. I don’t think he would have tried that if you were one of us, though. He probably thought you were…”

“Expendable?”

Quinn makes a face, part affirmation, part sympathetic.

“It will help if people see you out here. With others,” she adds.

Kurt just nods. He shouldn’t be so surprised. When has he ever been wanted? Mouth drawn in a disdainful line, eyebrows high and eyes low, Kurt raises his chin. He doesn’t like people to see him as  _less than_  or  _not enough_ , no matter the truth or how he feels.  There is still a stubborn streak in him that doesn’t want to give in, doesn’t want to be one of them, especially if they don’t want  _him_ , but he knows right now they are all he has. He’s been learning the language to try and acclimate, but it hasn’t been enough.

“Blaine must really like you to have kicked Sebastian out. We don’t allow violence, but. Sometimes these things just get brushed aside,” Quinn continues, finishing her porridge in dainty bites.

Kurt jabs at his. “If he really likes me, why doesn’t he try to court me like a gentleman?”

Quinn looks up from her meal, spoon still in her mouth. “ _Court_  you?”

Kurt points his spoon at her, amused by her expression. “You said you weren’t animals.”

Quinn rolls her eyes. “We aren’t, but we aren’t exactly high society.”

“Maybe that’s why I’ve been brought to you, to add some class to this place,” he says, twirling his spoon.

“Careful, there’s enough porridge left in here to dump over your head.”

Kurt raises his hands in surrender, smiling a little. “Okay, okay. Easy now.”

Quinn smirks and sets her bowl down, shaking her head. “You truly are awful. I actually feel bad for Blaine—”

“ _Hey!”_

“Now, let’s get to work so you can tell him these things yourself, hm?”

\----

As the week goes on, and another week after, the bruise on Kurt’s neck changes color and shape until it slowly dissolves away into nothing. Kurt’s wrists heal and soon enough the pain is nothing but an afterthought. Kurt learns to deal with bathing in the river, though he is certain he’ll always hate it. And he always makes sure he’s extra careful of where he steps.  No one claiming to be Sebastian’s kin comes after him. In fact, no one threatens him at all. He hasn’t exactly made friends, but it’s to be expected. It’s hard to make friends when you can’t even carry on a conversation. Still, people greet him, the curious looks stop. He develops  _routines_.

The reason Blaine is usually only around at night reveals itself once Kurt starts spending more time outside the house. It makes sense, as the leader, he supposes, but he finally sees a little of Blaine in action. Blaine hunts and gathers supplies, he fixes houses and is in the middle of helping build a new one. He makes sure various paths to gods knows where are kept free of foliage.

Kurt isn’t _spying_ on Blaine, he just happens to see Blaine doing things sometimes. If he watches Blaine talking to people, it’s only so he can get a better feel for how people communicate with each other, and to see if Blaine as leader here is anything like Sue as leader back home.

Sue as leader, as Queen, does not exactly talk with her people. Blaine, though, will have entire conversations. And he doesn’t even look angry or haughty when he has them, it’s more like friends talking to friends. He laughs and smiles with them, plays with their children. As brutish and unsophisticated as Blaine has come across, he can be a little bit adorable, actually.

Kurt continues to live in Blaine’s house, though he knows he should probably ask to live somewhere else. It isn’t proper to share a house, and especially a bed, with a person he isn’t married to. But Blaine doesn’t initiate anything like the night of Sebastian’s attack, and Kurt doesn’t want to admit he likes not having to be alone at night.

Sometimes Kurt even wishes Blaine would kiss him like he used to.

Sometimes they’ll share a look, or a lingering touch, and Kurt wonders and waits and maybe hopes a little, but Blaine always pulls back. Kurt thinks he must have changed his mind, and it hurts, and that’s the worst, really. Kurt reminds himself that he shouldn’t want it, shouldn’t want  _Blaine_ , but he’s beginning to forget why.

\----

Kurt is laying on his stomach in bed, studying some of the notes he took over the past few days, when he hears someone climbing the ladder. He looks up, interest piqued, and is greeted with the sight of a very sweaty, very filthy Blaine.

“Oh gods, were you rolling around in the mud?” Kurt asks, nose wrinkled and notes forgotten. “Honestly, if we’re going to be cohabiting we have  _got_  to set some ground rules. A: wipe your feet on the rug—when I get one. B: baths, Blaine,  _baths_.”

Blaine ignores him, going over to the pulley. There’s a grunt, and whatever he’s bringing up must be heavy because his biceps are working overtime. Kurt bites his lip. It can’t hurt to  _look._  He sits up on the bed to better admire the sweat-shiny musculature, and gods, maybe sweat isn’t all  _that_ bad…

His thoughts are interrupted by a loud  _thunk_  against the floor. Kurt jumps and recoils in horror when he sees that Blaine has just tossed  _an animal carcass_ onto the floor.

“That— _what_ —”

Blaine is standing there behind the thing, beaming like a child who has finally learned to tie his boots, awaiting praise and head pats. Kurt looks back to the animal, raising a blanket to cover his mouth and nose. It’s some sort of deer-like creature, but it’s missing it’s  _head_  so Kurt can’t be completely sure.

“I really hope you don’t expect me to prepare that.”

“For you, Kurt,” Blaine says gleefully in Maelin.

“For me,  _no_. Not want,” Kurt says, struggling to say the words correctly. He isn’t sure he’s gotten his point across, so he adds a, “ _Yuck_ ,” for good measure.

Blaine’s face falls. He kneels by the deer and starts talking, and Kurt thinks he’s pointing out its size and how pretty it is? Maybe how much food it will provide? But he doesn’t care, it’s  _disgusting_.

“Not in the house, Blaine! This isn’t  _civilized!”_

Kurt huffs in frustration at Blaine’s lack of response, and tries to tell him in Maelin, too.

Blaine gazes dejectedly at Kurt before lifting the deer back up and returning it to the pulley system. He pouts the entire time he lowers it, and when he’s finished he looks back to Kurt, a question in his eyes.

Gods knows what that question  _is_. Kurt stares back and makes a shooing motion when Blaine doesn’t move. Blaine’s shoulders slump and he finally makes his way back down the ladder.

“ _Honestly_ ,” Kurt mutters to himself.

\----

Kurt is hanging his laundry to dry, what scant laundry he  _has_ , when Blaine approaches him with an eager smile on his face. It’s an awfully cute smile, to be honest, but Kurt isn’t sure he trusts it.

“Yes?”

Blaine offers him a large knife. So large it might as well be a short sword. Kurt takes it, holding it gingerly in hand. “Um. Thanks?” he says in Maelin.

“For you,” Blaine says, looking pleased with himself.

Kurt gives him a wan smile. “So I gathered. I’m not sure what you want me to do with i—”

Blaine swoops in and kisses him on the mouth, interrupting. Kurt’s eyes widen and he sputters.

“Blaine! You’re lucky I didn’t just stab you!”

Blaine ignores him, instead traipsing off to points unknown. It’s the first time Blaine has kissed him since the incident with Sebastian, and it shocks Kurt. It secretly pleases him a little, too, but he pushes that thought down, mentally scolding himself. Kurt watches Blaine go, flustered and frustrated and holding the knife with no worldly idea what he’s supposed to do with it.

\----

It’s a rainy afternoon and Kurt is trying to fix one of the window shutters, cursing his complete lack of woodworking skills. He almost thinks he has the frame properly back on its hinge, when Blaine comes climbing up the ladder.

“Oh, thank goodness,” Kurt says, still absorbed in his task. “Maybe you’ll know how…”

The words die on his lips when Blaine comes into view, bare-chested, skin wet and gleaming, raindrops clinging to his curls. As much as Kurt is loath to admit it, it strikes him every time he sees Blaine how  _handsome_  he is. And sweet, honestly, and—

—Upturning a burlap sack, letting out a long, strange animal that makes a beeline for Kurt.

Kurt s _hrieks_  and scrambles for the bed, climbing it to get away. The animal is skittering all over, making weird grunting noises, claws clacking against the floor. It’s long and brown with black eyes and  _sharp_  teeth, like a giant rat. Kurt dives under the covers and refuses to come out.

“Kurt?”

“Get it out!”

Blaine says something in Maelin, and Kurt is almost positive he just said that the rat creature is a friend.

“Friend!? No!” Kurt replies in Maelin, peeking out from under the pelts to glare at Blaine.

Blaine says it’s a friend for  _him_. How damaged  _is_ Blaine to think that a creepy animal can be a  _friend?_

“Get Quinn,” Kurt says.

“Quinn?”

“Yes, get Quinn!” Kurt repeats, shaking the blanket and scooting further back on the bed.

Blaine frowns, but does as Kurt says. Kurt is left alone with the animal. He can’t see it, which is worrying, but can hear the thing rooting around somewhere else in the house. He shudders and waits, praying it won’t come looking for him.

After what feels like an agonizingly long time in which Kurt imagines ten possible ways the creature could attack him, Blaine finally returns with Quinn in tow. Her hair is slightly disheveled, eyes puffy. She looks sleepy and less than amused.

“Yes, Kurt? Blaine said you were shouting my name, I presume you need something?”

“Yes,” Kurt says, sitting a little higher despite the glaringly displeased way Quinn is regarding him. “Tell Blaine to get that  _creature_  out of here, and ask him why he keeps giving me  _horrible things_. Please.”

Quinn turns to Blaine, nonplussed, and relays Kurt’s message. Or at least he hopes. He’s getting better with the language, but it’s difficult to recognize much beyond basic words while people are talking. Blaine’s expression is sullen when he replies, and they speak a bit more before Quinn returns her attention to Kurt.

“He’s courting you,” she says, a cross between a smirk and guilt on her face. “I may have mentioned something about that to him a few weeks ago.”

Kurt flushes hotly and refuses to look at Blaine. “You—  _This_  is courting? Giving me dead animals and  _rabid wolverines?_ ”

“—It’s an  _otter_ —”

“It’s a beastly creature with beady eyes and it will bite me!”

“You are  _such_  a brat.”

“I am not a  _brat_ ,” Kurt exclaims, pounding his fist into the bed for emphasis. He can feel tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. That’s what they all called him and it isn’t _true_.

“At least he’s trying!”

“I’m trying, too! Don’t you think this is hard for me? I can’t even  _understand_  him,” Kurt says in a rush, motioning to Blaine. “He just  _decided_  and I never even got a say. I  _never_  get a say!”

“Fine.” Quinn’s voice and expression are of pure frustration. “What would you like me to tell him, then?”

“Tell him to just…stop giving me things that can eat or skewer me,” Kurt says lamely, glancing at Blaine. Blaine is just standing there, forehead wrinkled in apprehension, watching the both of them, probably wishing he knew what they were saying. Kurt is glad he doesn’t. Blaine, for all his ridiculous behavior, is maybe the only person on the planet who doesn’t think he’s some spoiled child.

Quinn sighs and says something to Blaine. They talk to each other for a minute, and Kurt tries to follow without much success.

When they finish, Blaine gives Kurt one last, mournful look, before collecting the otter and leaving. Kurt wonders what Quinn said, each word, and wishes he had the courage to ask. He doesn’t mean for Blaine to hate him, he  _does_  like Blaine, he just doesn’t know what to do with all these feelings. How to act on them. How to even _understand_  them. At times he aches for Blaine simply to touch him, a brush of fingertips, a nudge from his shoulder, even. Sometimes he even wishes his wrists still needed the salve just for the excuse of Blaine applying it. Other times he can’t even look at Blaine and the urge to push him away, to run back into the Wild, is overpowering.

Quinn heads for the ladder, following Blaine, and Kurt pipes up. “Thank you.”

“Kurt,” Quinn says, pausing in the doorway. “No one’s saying you don’t have a choice. He doesn’t mean to be…so much different than you’re used to. I know where you’re coming from, I know the way people do things here are unlike you’re used to. I know you’re still adapting, and I am sorry on his behalf. If you aren’t at all interested, I’ll tell him for you, but he seems to think you are, and he just wants you to give him a chance.”

Kurt looks down, cheeks flaming, playing with the edge of the animal pelt. “How did you know?” he asks, glancing up, eyeing her belly. “With your mate.”

Quinn smiles and gets a far-off look in her eyes, hand unconsciously going to her stomach. “It wasn’t just one thing, but…he looked at me in a way he didn’t look at anyone else, and I realized I didn’t want that to stop. Sometimes it’s just that simple.” Her smile twists into something sardonic. “By the way, my _mate_ is a little annoyed at you for getting me out of bed.”

Kurt’s mouth falls open. He’s seen Puck, even “met” him more or less, and he is the last person Kurt wants annoyed with him.

“Better be careful, m’lord,” she calls as she descends the ladder.

Kurt hides back underneath the blankets.

\----

Kurt doesn’t see Blaine until the next night. Blaine is quiet, careful, like Kurt is a wild animal he might spook and scare away. A wooden box up the pulley follows him, and Kurt groans.

“Not another present. I take it back, I don’t want you to court me. I don’t even know why I said it in the first place,” Kurt says, watching Blaine heft the box up and set it on the floor.

There’s a hesitant smile on Blaine’s face and he beckons Kurt over. When he comes near, Blaine tugs on his sleeve and points to the box. Kurt looks inside and smiles in surprise. The box is filled with a jumble of fine clothes. There are all sorts, from basic tunics to more elaborate garments of velvet and silk and satin, and Kurt kneels to get a closer look.

“Where did you get all this?” he asks, regardless of Blaine’s inability to understand him.

Blaine just smiles and takes a small kit from the crate, offering it to Kurt. Kurt murmurs a thank you in Maelin and opens it, revealing needles, threads, and scissors. Kurt’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

“I can tailor them.”

Blaine nods eagerly, even if he has no idea what Kurt’s said.

Kurt is honestly touched. Even after rejecting Blaine’s last three attempts, Blaine still tried. He didn’t have to. Kurt hasn’t promised him anything. Kurt hasn’t done _anything_.

“This is a lovely gift, Blaine, which I do not deserve,” he says slowly. “I know that I’m accustomed to having what I want, I know that I have lived a mostly burdenless life. I  _know_. And you don’t have to give me these things. It wasn’t what I meant when I said that to Quinn…”

Blaine is listening patiently, and Kurt lets out a small, humorless laugh. He doesn’t know why he bothers when Blaine hasn’t a clue to what he’s saying. He supposes that sometimes even just the act of speaking aloud makes him feel less alone.

“Anyway, I do appreciate it. This is the nicest gift I have ever been given.”

He shares a smile with Blaine and his gaze lingers. He thinks back to what Quinn told him. Blaine’s eyes are like half-moons, crinkled at the corners, lips curved warmly as though he were the one receiving something. Kurt wonders if this is that smile. His heart is pounding hard, so hard he swears he can hear it. He tears his eyes away, looking instead to the crate.

The clothes are various sizes, both genders. Some appear new, while others are worn, some too ragged to do much of anything with. It’s like they’ve been taken from different sources. There are more scraps in one of the corners, and Kurt’s hand pauses when it reaches a blue sleeve with an embroidered gold cuff. He recognizes this coat sleeve. It looks like it’s been cut away at the shoulder. Dark brown flecks stain the cloth. Kurt is interrupted by Blaine, who arches forward, hands up and fingers curled into mock claws. He growls and roars, doing a comical impression of a lion. Comical until Kurt realizes what it means.

“Is this blood?” Kurt asks, hand clenched around the sleeve.

Blaine’s reply is a blank look.

“I asked you a question! Is this  _blood?_  This is  _David’s!_  Did you find him? Did he die? Did you cut this sleeve from his  _dead body?”_  Kurt’s voice gets louder with each word, rising in pitch, and Blaine shrinks back a little, wide-eyed, eyebrows slanted in confusion.

Kurt crumples in on himself in defeat, head bowed and shoulders slumped. He expects tears, but there are none. A part of him had always suspected, if not known, but here is proof staring him right in the face. David was his last connection to home.  _David_ was his Prince, brave and strong and a perfect gentleman. And Kurt was the fool who had held that torch, waiting for him to sweep in and save the day. Gods, he really had thought that would happen, that David was out there somewhere. He was stupid to have hoped. He should have realized his old life was well and truly over the moment the Gate lowered.

Blaine’s arms wind around Kurt and draw Kurt to his side. He holds Kurt close, almost covering Kurt’s body with his. Kurt wriggles to get away, feeling vulnerable and overwhelmed, but Blaine just holds him tighter, murmurs softly against his hair. Kurt’s struggles eventually ease and he gives in, letting Blaine cradle his face to his chest. His skin is warm, the touch of cheek to chest intimate and calming. Kurt takes a tiny, shuddering breath, and tentatively winds his arms around Blaine.

Blaine hums softly, gathering Kurt fully into his lap, and begins to sing.

Kurt realizes it’s Blaine who he heard singing the morning after Sebastian’s attack. It’s delicate now, close to Kurt’s ear, sending tiny shivers down his neck. Blaine’s voice is soothing, and Kurt lets Blaine rock him like a child until he’s on the verge of sleep and has no energy to protest. And then nothing hurts. And then, he sleeps.


	7. Chapter 7

There are voices, quiet murmurs like waves washing up on shore. All sound is hazy, but slowly, slowly becoming clearer.

“…back…afternoon?”

“…think…and…”

Kurt feels like he’s coming up for air. He takes stock, trying to make sense of what’s happening. Pressure around his middle, almost unbearable heat, voices in an unfamiliar language. No. Familiar. Quinn. Blaine.

Kurt cracks open his eyes. Quinn is standing next to him, her hand dangling, fingers brushing absently along an animal hide in front of him. He’s in bed. He has no recollection of how he got here, but he knows that it’s Blaine behind him, holding him as though he might roll off the raised mattress at any moment.

“I’m up,” he croaks. His throat burns, head pounds.

“Good morning.” Quinn’s voice is gentle. Her hand comes up, fingers trailing across his forehead. “Blaine says you were quite upset last night. Would you like a day off from our lesson?”

It’s tempting. The urge to lay in bed and wallow is strong, but Blaine will probably insist on staying with him, and at the moment Blaine is nuzzling and kissing the back of his neck and it’s…it’s too much right now. He can hardly think when Blaine’s lips touch his skin.

“Blaine, please,” Kurt says, without much conviction. It’s embarrassing, knowing Quinn is right here. With home fresh on his mind, he half-expects to find her looking at him angrily. She isn’t, of course. Her expression is calm, expectant. “Can you tell him I’m okay? Please.”

She relays his message. Blaine stops, his hold even loosens, but only so he can press Kurt onto his back. Blaine hovers over him, clear eyes studying his face. Kurt’s mouth opens, but he says nothing, heart quickening. Blaine’s fingers sweep a slow path under his eyes, trace along his cheekbones, and Kurt isn’t sure if he’s still breathing. Blaine’s finger finds his mouth, outlines his upper lip. Sometimes when Kurt’s with Blaine, he feels like a hare pinned by a fox. Sometimes Blaine looks at him like he wants to eat him, but so tenderly.

Kurt’s chest aches, sudden and sharp, and he looks up at Blaine pleadingly, all previous thoughts fly out the window. He needs Blaine’s mouth in a way he never has. He feels scooped out and breakable and he needs Blaine. He needs something. He _needs_.

Blaine’s mouth finds his in an instant, too hard at first, but he eases up, kissing softer. Blaine’s lips part his, not with tongue, simply by the movement of his mouth. Kurt’s eyebrows draw up, hands come up, search blindly for something of Blaine to hold on to. He finds arms and his fingers clench; saying without words to please stay here, please don’t leave.

Blaine’s kisses are sweet. Lingering pecks become longer, drawn out presses of lips, until they don’t leave at all. Their lips slide against each others slowly, faces tilting in tandem, angles changing at an almost lazy pace. Kurt begins to relax when Blaine’s tongue traces his lower lip. Kurt lets out a tiny hum and opens, letting Blaine in. Blaine’s tongue penetrates his mouth and Kurt welcomes it with another small moan. Blaine responds in kind, presses down against Kurt’s body, exploring his mouth and biting lightly at his lips and whatever calm Kurt had been feeling leaves him, replaced with tingling anticipation.

The kissing turns hungry and Kurt succumbs, letting Blaine take what he wants, wanting him to. Blaine must sense it because he is relentless in his pursuit to drive Kurt absolutely out of his mind. They kiss until Kurt is breathless, until his lips are numb. Blaine‘s body brushes against his crotch and he cries out in surprise at the sharp ache and how _good_ it feels.

Kurt pushes and shoves his way out from under Blaine. He has noticed one common denominator for when he becomes hard, and it is nearly always when he and Blaine are kissing. He can feel it on Blaine sometimes, too, and has wondered more than once if it’s some kind of punishment for wanting something so abnormal.

“I’m sorry,” he says, sliding to sit at the opposite side of the bed. His face is hot with embarrassment, stomach doing flips, breathing labored. Blaine is looking at him, eyes dark and serious, lips swollen and hair sticking up every which way. Kurt did this. Kurt put that predators gaze on Blaine’s face. He clears his throat, trying to breathe around the ache in his groin. “Perhaps you are a cannibal after all.”

“ _Kurt_ ,” Blaine says. Kurt can hear the _come back_ implied.

“No, Blaine,” Kurt replies firmly. “It’s embarrassing. Plus—gods, Quinn was here. We were kissing in front of Quinn.” He groans, scrubbing his hands over his face.

Blaine just _looks_ at him, and Kurt sighs.

“I’m just going to go down for my lesson, okay? Thank you for—oh, what’s the point? You can’t understand me anyway.”

Frustrated, Kurt stands and makes his way down the ladder without another look back. It was already hard enough to force himself out of that bed, he doesn’t need Blaine’s sad face luring him back in.

Quinn is, indeed, at the fire pit, and Kurt can’t help but blush hotly when he sees her.

“I was wondering if I’d see you today,” she says.

“Uh, sorry, I—I’m not myself.”

“Why is that?”

Kurt’s jaw clenches. “Blaine brought me this…clothing chest, and a piece of David’s coat was in it. There were blood stains, and Blaine told me a lion had—I don’t even know. But he is dead, isn’t he? Otherwise he’d be here. And I asked you, Quinn, _I asked you_ and you said you hadn’t seen him.” His voice picks up volume as realization sinks in. She knew this whole time and she had never _told_ him.

“Kurt, no,” Quinn says gently, but he can see the guilt on her face.

“ _You knew_.”

“I didn’t know for _sure_ ,” Quinn bursts, pausing a moment to control the emotion in her own voice. “I couldn’t be sure. I knew we’d found a man who had been badly mauled. He hadn’t made it through the night. But I never saw him, I never knew his name. When you asked, I didn’t want to make you feel worse. You were already torn away from everything you knew.”

Kurt is quiet for a long time. He believes Quinn; he knows she would never purposefully hurt him. He thinks about David and it feels like a lifetime ago. He mourns his old friend, or whatever David had been. But he wonders if it isn’t David he’s feeling so broken over. As his head clears he wonders if it’s the loss of home, or at least the idea of it. He thinks that was what David really meant to him, what he represented. Kurt’s last tie to his old life.

“Is it strange to miss somewhere you never really belonged in the first place?” he finally asks.

Quinn smiles sadly, pulling Kurt to her side. Kurt lets her, lowering his head to her shoulder.

“Not at all,” she says. “It gets better, though. I promise.”

\----

When it was declared Kurt was to be banished for disobedience and defiance, he’d been given a short amount of time to pack. Sue told him she was being generous. Kurt had thrown a candlestick at her head. His packing time ended at that moment.

Either way, as a boy who had never spent a great deal of time outside the castle, he hadn’t been quite sure just what _to_ pack. He had hurriedly stuffed his bag with some of his favorite possessions, including a book of stories that had belonged to his mother.

Her name is written on the front cover, and Kurt finds himself tracing the delicate loops of ink. _Elizabeth Hummel_. He doesn’t remember a lot about his parents, he was very young when they passed. One of his most distinct memories of his mother is when she would read to him, the way she always smelled faintly of flowers. The way his father would kiss them both on the forehead before bed. No matter what Kurt’s aunt Sue said of his parents, he knows they loved each other, and him. Such memories, faded though they are, have been a comfort growing up. He looks to them here, stranded in the Wild, so many miles from both lives he knew.

He’s reading the story of the girl who falls in love with a Beast, when Blaine settles in beside him. Kurt sighs and looks over.

“Yes?”

Blaine smiles and hands him a papaya.

“Thank you, but I’m not hungry.”

Blaine doesn’t seem to mind, just rests his head on Kurt’s shoulder.

“Excuse you,” Kurt admonishes, but doesn’t make Blaine move.

He turns the page. There’s an illustration of the Beast transforming into a prince. “Why, when we kiss, don’t you turn into a prince?” Kurt asks. “Or at least acquire some manners?”

Blaine says nothing, instead reaching out to touch the picture, eyes lit up in wonder.

“Prince.”

“Prince,” Blaine repeats.

“Very good,” Kurt says, and turns the page. The next illustration shows the prince giving the girl a bouquet of flowers. “You see? This is how you properly court someone.”

Blaine doesn’t respond, simply nuzzles Kurt’s neck. Kurt rolls his eyes, nudging Blaine’s face away.

“Blaine,” Kurt says, pointing to the prince.

Blaine’s eyebrows rise.

“Kurt.” Kurt points to the girl.

“Kurt and Blaine?” Blaine asks, voice not much more than an awed whisper.

“Yes, Kurt and Blaine—well, except I’m not a girl and that dress is so old fashioned—hey, be careful,” Kurt says as Blaine takes the book from his hands. Blaine holds it up, looking from the picture to Kurt and back.

“Well not _literally_ ,” Kurt says. “Oh…”

Kurt turns and digs in his bag a moment, retrieving his drawing pad and a charcoal pencil.

“Don’t judge me, I’m not an artist,” he says as he begins to draw, charcoal sweeping over parchment. Blaine makes to sit next to him, but Kurt stills him with a hand so he can study his face. It’s all very rudimentary, solid lines and minimal shading. Kurt dresses Blaine in his usual garment, which isn’t much else than a pair of pants. He blushes as he draws Blaine’s pectorals completely from memory. Blaine’s muscles do not protrude obnoxiously; rather, he is beautifully lithe.  His arms, on the other hand, are deliciously toned. Kurt draws himself in something lovely that he doesn’t even have with him, wishing he had colored paints to illustrate what’s in his head.

When he finishes, Kurt holds the drawing up to show Blaine. “See. This is how courting is done.”

Blaine’s jaw goes slack, mouth open and eyes widened. He carefully takes the pad from Kurt’s hands, staring at the picture like it’s the most mysterious and wonderful thing he’s ever seen. Kurt blushes immediately.

“My teacher would have said that’s child’s work.”

Blaine touches his finger to one of the lines, pulling it back as though burned when he sees how the charcoal smears. He gives his finger a curious look, but seems to forget it completely when he looks back to the drawing.

“Kurt and Blaine,” he says, hushed, raising his eyes to look at Kurt.

Kurt simply nods, stomach churning and face still hot.

“Here,” Kurt says softly, reaching for the drawing pad. Blaine all but holds the pad to his chest, keeping it out of Kurt’s reach, mouth pulled into a petulant frown.

“Blaine,” Kurt pleads, gently prying it from his hands. He tears the paper from its binding and Blaine looks _stricken_ until Kurt hands him the picture.

“Mine?” Blaine asks after a long moment.

“Sure,” Kurt says, quickly adding a _yes_ in Maelin.

Blaine’s face lights up, looking from the picture to Kurt and back. He babbles something in Maelin Kurt can’t quite follow. Kurt listens regardless, a fond smile tugging at his lips. Blaine is so very easily amused. No one back home would have given a second thought to his drawing. No one would have cared at all.

When Kurt comes back from his lesson later that day, the drawing is tacked to the wall above their bed.

\----

Blaine has Kurt read to him every night since Kurt showed him the picture in his book. They sit close in bed, Blaine’s arm around Kurt’s waist, his chin hooked over Kurt’s shoulder so he can see the pictures. Kurt knows Blaine can’t understand what he’s saying, but Blaine seems to enjoy it anyway.

Sometimes Blaine will tell Kurt a story of his own, and Kurt will get lost in the rhythm of his voice and the soft flow of words. He finds himself beginning to understand a little without having to think about it. Words don’t need to be translated, they just _are_. They start to have meaning.

Sometimes Blaine will doze off, snoring lightly against Kurt’s neck. During those times, Kurt will gently lay Blaine back against the pillows and blow the candle out. Blaine will reach for him even while sleeping, and because Kurt doesn’t want to wake him, he lets Blaine, curling up against his side to find his own sleep.

Sometimes Blaine will get bored or distracted and kiss Kurt’s neck. It starts with small, chaste kisses that turn into lazy, open-mouthed kisses that turn into light sucking. Blaine’s mouth will map a trail along Kurt’s neck, dip under his ear, sometimes down past his shirt, nudging fabric aside to kiss his shoulder. Kurt will shiver and try to keep reading, but the trembling will make his voice funny so Blaine will take the book from Kurt’s hands, and Kurt will let him, let Blaine tip him back into the pillows to kiss his mouth instead. Blaine rarely wears a shirt, and Kurt will sometimes have the urge to touch without knowing why. He never lets himself, though, too shy, and will hold Blaine’s hands instead, which feels a hundred times more intimate. They kiss and many times Kurt will end up on his side, breathing erratic and heart racing and unable to sleep for a long time after. He gets such a thrill from kissing Blaine. It isn’t the same as when he was sneaking around the castle with other boys. Here he is, on his own in the Wild, alone and adult with another man in his bed. There’s no one to tell him he can’t, no one to tell him to stop. It’s the freedom, not the defiance, and knowing that Blaine actually wants to for no other reason than he likes it.

Sometimes, though, it feels like something’s missing. Like there should be more.

And sometimes Kurt will fall asleep with Blaine’s arms around him and wonder how there could ever be anything else.

\----

“So, have you decided to make it official yet?” Quinn asks.

Kurt glances up from the button he’s sewing onto a shirt. “Huh?”

“You and Blaine -- mates.”

Kurt accidentally jabs himself with the needle. “Ow, geez.” He raises his thumb to his mouth to stop it from bleeding. “What gave you that idea? I can still barely talk to him.”

“He talks about you all the time,” Quinn says. “Kurt this, Kurt that.”

“What about?” Kurt can’t help but ask, knowing his face is probably turning pink. He resists the urge to check for a hickey. He looks every morning if they’d been kissing, but his neck is always as perfectly pale as ever.

Quinn makes a noncommittal noise and shrugs a shoulder like it isn’t important in the least. “Oh, there’s a big hunting and trading trip in a week. Blaine told me to let you know, and to ask if there’s anything you want.”

“Trading? You mean to an actual city?” Kurt asks.

“Yes, we occasionally go to them for supplies.”

“Maybe I should go with them. They can leave me there,” Kurt says.

Quinn gives him a long look, and Kurt pretends he doesn’t see the disappointment there. He returns his gaze to the shirt he’s mending.

“Shouldn’t you learn the language first?” she finally asks.

“I suppose that would be ideal,” Kurt says, surprised by his own relief. There’s still time to make such a decision. He doesn’t know if leaving is what he wants anymore, a feeling that he isn’t keen to explore, but neither does he know if he wants to stay forever.

“There will be other trips,” Quinn says.

Kurt glances up and simply nods.

\----

It’s the last night before the big trip and Kurt has prepared something for Blaine to take with him. He’s pacing, waiting not so patiently until Blaine is done with whatever it is he’s doing wherever he’s gotten off to. When Kurt finally hears the sound of someone coming up the ladder he stops stock-still, biting his lower lip in anticipation.

Blaine comes in, and Kurt opens his mouth to say something. Before he can get a word out, Blaine bows and extends a handful of flowers to him.

Kurt stands there, mouth gaping, all the words in all languages flown from his head. The flowers are hibiscus, bloomed in beautiful pinks, reds, and yellows. Kurt takes a small step forward.

“For me?” he asks in Maelin, without even thinking about it.

“For Kurt,” Blaine says, straightening with a smile. His smile is less sure than usual, eyes not quite meeting Kurt’s face. Blaine’s shyness seems to affect Kurt’s, and he reaches for the small bouquet as though in slow motion. Their fingers brush as the flowers change hands, and Kurt feels a tiny shiver along his skin.

“Thank you,” he says, again in Maelin, and lifts the flowers to smell them. He looks at Blaine over the petals, then turns, feeling his cheeks warm, to look for somewhere to put them. He has a wooden mug of water from earlier and puts them in it, bringing it to the shelf to display.  They’re such a lovely array of colors. Kurt takes a long moment to admire, waiting for his heart to stop pounding.

“I…made you something.” Kurt pushes past trepidation and picks up the small bundle from the end of the bed. “For you,” he says in Maelin.

Blaine’s lips slowly part and he smiles, taking the cloth from Kurt. He finally tears his eyes away and looks down at what he’s holding, unfolding it. There was a beautiful red tunic and dark pants in the crate Blaine brought him, and he’d cleaned them up, hemmed and mended them to Blaine’s size.

“I sewed them for you for the trip, to trade in,” Kurt says, having asked Quinn earlier for the exact translation.

“Kurt,” Blaine says, mouth curling up, eyes not much more than slits when he smiles. He starts to pull the shirt over his bare chest and Kurt quickly stops him.

“No, not yet,” he says in Maelin. “For the trip. To trade in.”

Kurt manages to wrangle the clothes away from Blaine, secretly touched that he likes them so much. Blaine tells him thank you several times, following him around with a besotted smile. He holds his hand out and Kurt takes it without protest, letting Blaine lead him onto the small porch. It’s only when Blaine motions for Kurt to climb onto his back that he begins to doubt Blaine’s motives.

“I’m not injured…”

Blaine motions again, more insistent, and Kurt gives in with a sigh. He lets out a tiny whine and climbs onto Blaine’s back, arms looped tight above his shoulders.

“Oh gods, please don’t make me regret this.”

Blaine follows the ledge around to the back of the house and climbs a makeshift ladder to the roof. Kurt clenches his eyes shut, body plastered as close as possible to Blaine’s back. It isn’t that he doesn’t like _heights_ , it’s that he’s given all control over to Blaine. If Blaine falls, he falls. Kurt has always had a difficult time trusting anyone explicitly. He thinks he trusts Blaine—no, he _knows_ he does, but this is really testing the limits.

Blaine climbs beyond the roof and into the thick branches above. It isn’t an easy climb, either. Kurt is jostled and Blaine’s body swings and swoops, taking Kurt (and his stomach) along for the ride. Kurt peeks, but can’t bring himself to look down.

Finally the motion stops, and Blaine helps situate Kurt in the dip of a branch. The thing is wider than Kurt’s body, but he’s still terrified of falling and refuses to let go of Blaine’s arm. He has Blaine in a death-grip, knuckles white and body pressed close.

“I’m afraid to move, we’re going to fall and I know I’ve been sad and I’ve complained, I’ve complained a _lot,_ but I really am too young to die! I’m not ready,” Kurt says in a rush, forcing his eyes open.

He looks down and immediately regrets it. The ground seems miles away, what he can even make out of it through the branches, and his stomach does another somersault at the mere sight of it.

“Blaine, no. This might be romantic for monkeys, but I’m not a monkey, Blaine. I’m really not,” Kurt says, burying his face in the crook of Blaine’s neck.

“Shh,” Blaine whispers, rubbing a hand soothingly along Kurt’s back, keeping him close and murmuring softly into his hair. Kurt tries to make sense of what Blaine’s saying, focuses on his touch and his voice, low and calm, and little by little Kurt starts to relax. He stops thinking about where they are and instead he focuses on who he’s with.

Kurt’s grip loosens, his eyes open. He doesn’t look down, he looks next to him. Clear brown eyes meet his own, framed with those dark, thick lashes. Kurt’s breath catches in his throat and it has nothing to do with the tree he is sitting in.

Blaine tells him to look, rummages for something in the pocket of his pants, and holds out a handful of tiny, dried berries. Kurt eyes them, confused, and watches as Blaine holds them out with his hands cupped. There is the sharp trill of a bird and Kurt startles, looks up into the branches for the source, realizing belatedly that it hasn’t come from a bird at all. Blaine’s lips are pursed, eyes upward, searching. He trills and coos and whistles, making all manner of sounds Kurt wouldn’t have thought capable of a person. He wants to ask how Blaine is doing it, but doesn’t want to interrupt.

For once, Kurt is quiet. He listens and watches, waiting for whatever it is Blaine has brought him up here for.

A bird, bright red with startling black wingtips, lands nearby. It’s head cocks to the side, listening, and responds with a chirp of its own. Blaine replies. Kurt watches in wonder as Blaine appears to _talk_ to the bird.

More birds begin to land around them in flutters of wings and joyous trilling. They’re so close Kurt is almost afraid to breathe and scare them all away. They become braver still, hopping right up onto Blaine’s arms, perching on his hands, pecking at the berries he’s holding.

Kurt looks at Blaine, eyes wide in disbelief. Blaine simply smiles back at him, such a wide, delighted grin that Kurt cannot help but smile in return.

“Kurt,” Blaine says, and nods minutely toward his hands, then to his own. Kurt must be getting awful used to reading signals from Blaine, because he knows exactly what’s being asked.

“They won’t come to me,” Kurt whispers, but holds out his hands all the same.

Blaine tips the remaining berries into Kurt’s palms, upsetting the birds from their human perch. They don’t go far, but they also don’t come to Kurt.

“See?” Kurt says, feeling a surprising spike of disappointment.

Blaine whistles again, face close to Kurt’s. He waits, looks at Kurt’s mouth. Kurt’s mouth twists into a doubtful frown, but he purses his lips like he watched Blaine do and tries to mimic the sound. It doesn’t sound very bird-like, but it does make Blaine smile. Blaine nods, encouraging, and whistles again.

Kurt keeps trying, and as he does a few of the birds swoop and settle onto his arms and palms, heads tilting this way and that at the sounds. They eat the berries _right from his hands_. Kurt watches in awe, marveling that these beautiful, wild creatures are so close. They’re so colorful and sweet. Kurt turns his head to say as much to Blaine and finds Blaine staring at him, a warm, unreadable look in his eyes. His mouth is drawn in the softest of smiles, and the way he’s looking at Kurt is somehow so intimate it makes Kurt forget the birds a moment.

“They’re eating right from my hands,” he says stupidly, hushed.

Blaine touches his nose to Kurt’s cheek and rests his head on his shoulder. Kurt shivers a little and looks back to the birds, remembering the bite of their claws against his skin and the weight of their little bodies. He watches them with stilted breath until the berries are gone and they lose interest, flying off to nests and hallows for the night.

The sky has already started changing color. There are enough gaps in the leaves in front of them to see the stretch of jungle, seemingly endless, dyed now in reds and oranges. Blaine holds Kurt as the sun sets and Kurt feels like his worries and the weight he has been carrying disappear with it. The trees become nothing more than silhouettes, the sky shifting into deepening shades of blue, and Kurt feels at peace.

Blaine carries him back down. Kurt holds tight, though it isn’t from fear this time.

“Thank you,” Kurt says in Maelin. Blaine lays him down on the bed and moves to stand, but Kurt doesn’t let go. He gazes up at Blaine, thinking to himself that even after the rainbow of birds and the glowing sunset, that Blaine is the loveliest thing he has seen all night. Kurt tugs Blaine onto the bed, pulls at his waist and arches up to kiss him. It’s always been Blaine to kiss him first, before, but Kurt knows what he wants. He wants the perfect way their mouths slot together, the slide of tongue, the taste and the tiny sounds.

Blaine responds immediately, climbing onto the bed, body poised over Kurt’s. Kurt fists Blaine’s hair with one hand, the other still pulling at Blaine’s side like he might leave otherwise. Blaine’s mouth is hot, inviting, lips deceivingly soft for the urgency with which they move against Kurt’s. There’s the bite of teeth, nipping at Kurt’s lower lip, at his tongue, Blaine’s mouth sucking and hungry and Kurt submitting to all of it, wanting it so badly. Blaine sucks at his tongue and Kurt’s fingers claw down the back of his neck without meaning to.

Blaine’s mouth moves from Kurt’s and trails a wet path to his neck. Teeth scrape across his skin before Blaine’s lips clamp and he begins to suck, sending shivers and sparks along every nerve. Kurt squirms, softly hums because it feels too good. Everything is too warm. Blaine sucks harder and Kurt’s hands unconsciously knead his neck, his shoulder, tipping his head back. He feels the sudden pressure of teeth and lets out a small cry. Blaine moans in response and moves from Kurt’s neck to kiss him, even more demanding than before. Kurt’s fingers thread through Blaine’s hair and he kisses back, so hungry for more than what Blaine is giving him.

When Kurt feels how hard he’s gotten he turns his face from the kiss with a frustrated huff, eyes glaring at the ceiling, and silently curses his embarrassing affliction. He starts to pull away, but Blaine throws his leg over his, straddling him.

“Blaine, I’m—”

“Shh.” Blaine presses a finger to Kurt’s lips, drags it across his lower lip, cradles his jaw and kisses him again.

Kurt’s eyelids slowly lower as he gives back in to the heady taste of Blaine’s mouth, but flash open when he feels Blaine’s length pressed right alongside his. _Hard_. Blaine is hard. And he seems to pay it no mind, unashamed that Kurt can so obviously feel it. Something about that realization tugs low at Kurt’s belly, makes him want what they’re doing even more.

Blaine rises up a little and Kurt whimpers, tries to follow and re-claim his mouth. Blaine grunts softly in protest, pressing Kurt back into the mattress. His fingers pluck at the buttons of Kurt’s shirt, hurriedly undoing them. Kurt doesn’t understand, but lets him, even when he yanks too hard. Kurt will mend it later. Blaine pushes Kurt’s shirt open and runs his hands over Kurt’s chest. His palms span so much skin, Kurt wonders how he never realized how big Blaine’s hands were. Kurt shivers and delights under Blaine’s touch, letting out a surprised little whimper when Blaine’s fingers brush over his nipples. His body jerks, his hands reach to push Blaine’s away because it’s a funny feeling he isn’t sure he likes. Blaine’s hands bat his away, pinning them down when he becomes more insistent.

“Blaine, it tickles,” he starts to protest, trying to free his hands.

Blaine frowns and pushes Kurt’s hands over his head, locking one hand around Kurt’s wrists. He whispers hot against Kurt’s ear, telling Kurt _please_. Kurt feels Blaine’s free hand back on his chest. Blaine’s fingers circle one of his nipples, rub teasingly around the center. Kurt squirms and whines, gasps when Blaine pinches. He wants to hit Blaine, tries to yank his hands free because _how dare he_. But then Blaine does it again and again, light pinches, little twists, and it’s like a direct line to where Kurt is so hard. He strains, squirms, not because he wants Blaine to stop, now, but because it feels so good, makes him ache.

Blaine has moved to the other nipple and Kurt can feel heat rush to his face. His hips arch, searching for relief he doesn’t know how to get. He just wants more and for it to stop. Blaine is looking at him, staring right at him. Kurt makes a strangled sort of sound and he begs without knowing what for. Blaine captures his mouth in a hard kiss and Kurt surrenders, opening his mouth for Blaine’s tongue, wanting.

Blaine’s hands leave his wrists, leave his chest. They tug instead at Kurt’s pants, pulling them down without warning. Kurt breaks away from Blaine’s mouth with a sharply drawn breath.

“Blaine? What—” He panics, swallows hard, tries to wriggle away so he can put his pants back on.

Kurt stops abruptly. Blaine‘s hand wraps around him _there_. Kurt gapes, but barely has a moment to process the feeling before Blaine is moving his hand. Kurt’s mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water, wordlessly working at trying to say something, _anything_ , hands abandoning his pants to grapple for purchase on Blaine. Blaine, whose fingers tighten just so, whose hand moves faster, who is staring right into Kurt’s eyes with an intensity Kurt has never seen.

It feels unlike anything Kurt has experienced, the rough skin of Blaine’s hand stroking him. It feels good, so good, that Kurt moans without noticing, long and low. His thighs tremble, hands grasp. He falls back on the bed, but his hips rock, greedy for more. One of Blaine’s hands holds him down and the other speeds up, doing something at the top, at the base, these little twists that make Kurt softly keen. It’s too much friction, too intense, and something happens, it builds up and spills out and Kurt is panting, crying without tears, pulling at Blaine to get him _closer_.

He’s panting lightly as the feeling dies down. When he comes back to himself he blinks slowly, gazing up at Blaine. Blaine’s eyes are dark and always on him. Kurt starts to speak, but Blaine kisses the words from his mouth. Kurt languidly kisses back. He feels boneless and wonderful and never wants Blaine to stop.

Kurt hears the sound of skin sliding against skin again and breaks away from Blaine’s mouth, wanting to see. Blaine lets him, mouth parted and eyes heavy-lidded. Kurt peers down and sees Blaine doing to himself what he’d done for Kurt just minutes ago. Blaine’s hand is moving fast around himself, the tip glistening and leaking with the same stickiness that’s still smeared across his own stomach. Kurt finds it on the sheets in the morning sometimes, remnants of dreams he never remembers.

Blaine noses his jaw, kisses his neck, hand pumping harder and chest heaving. Kurt is mesmerized by the sight, taking it all in. He whispers Blaine’s name, and Blaine bites back a moan, shooting hot across his stomach. Kurt lets out a loud breath.

Was that sex? Is that what sex is between men?

Kurt is surprised to find he’s unembarrassed. He always felt a sort of shame when he got hard, but he feels none of it in this moment. He touches his fingertips to the wet on his belly, curious. He frowns and holds his hand up to have a closer look. Blaine leans down and licks one of his fingers clean. Kurt blushes and makes a face, because that came from his _body_. Blaine, still breathing heavily, just grins.

“Gross, Blaine,” he whispers.

Blaine smiles, almost giddy, and scoops some up on his index finger. He holds it in front of Kurt’s mouth. They battle with their expressions until Kurt finally gives in and opens up. He sucks the stuff from Blaine’s finger and is rewarded with a look of longing. Kurt blushes. It doesn’t taste like much of anything.

Kurt watches idly as Blaine pulls his shirt the rest of the way off for him and wipes up the mess. Kurt would complain about Blaine staining his shirt, but he finds he really doesn’t care. After Blaine’s cleaned Kurt, he pulls Kurt into his arms and nestles into the bed with him. Kurt should be embarrassed or scandalized that Blaine would touch him in such a manner, but all he feels is relaxed and sleepy and…happy. Loved.

Kurt curls closer to Blaine, like he can hide from his own thoughts. _Love_? No. He tells himself to stop that line of thought immediately. He can hear Blaine’s heart pounding, or maybe it’s his, and he takes five even breaths to try and clear his mind.

Blaine starts kissing his hair, murmuring for him to sleep, and Kurt squeezes his eyes closed against such affection. No one has ever been so sweet with him. No one has ever made him feel good like this. Quinn has been telling him Blaine wants him to be his mate, but he could never figure out why. He still doesn’t know, but it doesn’t seem to change the fact that Blaine wants it. Wants _him_.

But Blaine is leaving tomorrow. Kurt isn’t even sure how long Blaine will be gone, but there could be new people where he’s going. Prettier, more interesting men and women, and what if Blaine stops wanting him?

 Kurt doesn’t want him to, he realizes with a start. He doesn’t want Blaine to ever do this with someone else, or hold them in his arms, or bring them flowers or dead animals or carry them about as he pleases. Kurt wants it for himself, more than home and a hot bath and all the fine clothes in the world. He wants _Blaine_ , wants him so completely.

“I want to be your mate,” Kurt says in a rush, finding Blaine’s gaze and holding it. Blaine smiles at him uncertainly, and Kurt curses because he never once learned the word for mate in Maelin. Blaine simply smiles and kisses him soft on the mouth.

Kurt sighs. He knows some of the words in Maelin, thinks he could be intelligible enough in phrasing it, but he doesn’t want to have it come out wrong and be misinterpreted, or worse, _unromantic_. He’ll find out from Quinn in the morning and tell Blaine before he leaves. He’ll tell Blaine he loves him.

He loves Blaine.

In that moment when Kurt stops fighting and gives into the realization, it leaves him feeling lightheaded and giddy. He lifts Blaine’s hand, pressing Blaine’s palm against his heart. “I want to be yours,” he says, even if Blaine can’t understand him. “I am yours.”

There’s a persistent fluttering in Kurt’s chest and he can’t seem to get close enough to Blaine, tucking himself against the warm, familiar body. Blaine’s arms stay firmly around him and he kisses Kurt’s forehead, humming softly until Kurt falls asleep.

\----

Kurt wakes to kisses and a murmured goodbye.

“Not goodbye,” Kurt mumbles, but he’s so sleepy, so content and warm. There’s a different warm now, and he tries to find the warmth he had before, but can’t. Still, it smells like Blaine. Kurt smiles and falls back asleep.

When Kurt wakes fully it’s to sunlight filtering in through the window and the faraway sound of birdsong. He stretches and yawns, contemplating going back to sleep, when he looks around and realizes he’s alone. His eyes blink open. He sits up, takes a better look around. There’s no one in sight, and the pack Blaine had been keeping propped against the wall to take with him is gone.

Kurt’s heart both seems to plummet and stop beating all at once.

He stumbles from bed and rushes to the doorway. Everything is quiet. Outside nothing looks out of the ordinary even if he half-expects it all to be as wrong as he’s feeling right now. He haphazardly pulls on a pair of shorts and climbs down the ladder, searching for Quinn, calls to her until she finally calls back, looking down from her home.

Kurt shields his eyes, squinting up at her. “Where’s—where’s Blaine?”

Quinn looks confused. “Kurt, they left hours ago…”

Kurt glances around without really seeing. “How—what direction? I can catch up, they’ll be walking, won’t they?”

“Kurt…” Quinn slowly makes her way down, brow furrowed. “I thought you decided you should learn the language first?”

“It’s not that. How long will they be gone?” he asks, realizing belatedly that he’s still shirtless. He can’t find it in him to care, though.

“A month. Maybe two.”

Kurt is stunned. _It's so long. He missed his chance_. He’s in a daze, scanning the area like Blaine will just _be there_ if he looks hard enough. But there’s nothing.

Nothing at all.

 


	8. Chapter 8

Kurt clutched his father’s hand, head bent, tears streaming down his face. It was too much — first his mother, and now this? His father was all Kurt had left in the world, the loss of him was unimaginable. Kurt kissed his father’s knuckles, praying, _begging_ for the Gods to be merciful and let him keep his father.

“Kurt, no,” Burt’s voice came out raspy, punctured with a cough Kurt could feel deep in his own chest. “Don’t touch me…couldn’t bear the thought of you gettin’ sick too…”

“I don’t _care_ ,” Kurt wailed. “I’ll go with you. Please, _please_ don’t leave me.”

“Kurt…”

“I can’t lose you—” Kurt bit back another sob, sucking in an unsteady breath.

“Kurt, your aunt will take care of you.” Burt’s eyebrows were drawn up, he looked so sad. His face was pale from illness and each breath taken was labored. Kurt couldn’t stand to see him like this, just as mother had looked not a month ago before the gods had taken her from both of them.

“I don’t want her. I don’t even _know_ her. She doesn’t love me.”

“She’s family, Kurt…she’ll take care of you…just try, for your old man?” Burt asked, attempting a smile that threatened to tear Kurt’s heart right from his chest.

Kurt nodded, wiping his face ineffectually on his shirt sleeve.

“You gotta be strong now, Kurt, okay? Be strong for yourself…and you know, you get a little older…and,” he paused, coughing hard. “It won’t always feel like this. You’ll meet a…well, you’ll meet somebody like I met your mom…an’ you’ll be happy.”

“I don’t ever want to marry,” Kurt said, nose wrinkled, too young for the idea to have much appeal.

“Yeah? Bet you ten gold you change your mind,” Burt said with a faint smile.

“Dad.”

“Hey, you’re gonna live in the castle, you can afford it.”

“ _Dad_ ,” Kurt repeated, smiling shakily through his tears.

Burt coughed again, and when he smiled his eyes were watery, too. His voice sounded breathy and weak. “Y’know…you might be King someday.”

Kurt rolled his eyes, trying so very hard not to cry again. “Sue will have children eventually.”

“Don’t let her be too hard on you, Kurt,” Burt struggled to say. He coughed again, longer this time, his handkerchief stained with red flecks. “What do I always say?”

“Dad, shh, please,” Kurt begged.

“Kurt?”

“’N-no one pushes the Hummels around,’” Kurt said, clutching his father’s hand so tight.

Burt was trying to smile, but Kurt could see it was hard for him to move anymore. “That’s right. I’m so…proud of you, kid…love you so much. I want you to remember…” There was another coughing fit, and Burt could hardly hold his eyes open. “Want you…want you to remember that.”

“I love you, daddy, please don’t… _please_ , oh gods…”

Burt struggled to say Kurt’s name, but after a few more weak coughs and wheezing breaths, his body went still.

“No!” Kurt wailed. “ _Daddy_.”

Kurt covered his father’s chest, mashing his face against his father’s shoulder as though if he held him tight enough, his father’s soul would stay in his body. Kurt sobbed, shoulders shaking, hands trembling. He cried until he could barely breathe and every movement was dizzy.

“I don’t want to be alone,” Kurt gasped, fingers curling in the fabric of his father’s shirt. “I don’t want to be alone.”

\----

Kurt wakes up alone.

He’s carved a small niche into the wooden wall alongside the bed where he stores a stick of charcoal. He uses it every morning when he wakes up to tally the days. Eighty seven days, it reads, that Blaine has been gone. Eighty seven days without good morning kisses and sweet smiles. Who would have ever thought he could miss someone he couldn’t even talk to so much?

But he can’t stop thinking about Blaine, and he can’t get rid of the awful, lingering feeling that something bad is going to happen. That it already did happen. That all that will be left of Blaine is a ripped shirt and a bloodied, unbreathing body. It wakes him up in the middle of the night, sweating and panting as though he’s run a mile, searching the bed for someone who isn’t there. He barely gets any sleep, and the days have both stretched beyond their hours and bled into each other.

It’s been around three months, but Quinn has assured him every day that this is not uncommon. That sometimes these expeditions have even lasted half a year, and more. Traveling and trading takes time, she told him, it’s unpredictable and if anything had happened they would have sent a messenger back. ‘What if something happened to the messenger?’ Kurt always counters with. At that point Quinn usually rolls her eyes and makes him work on his verbs.

Not that he needs the lessons anymore. After redoubling his efforts, Kurt can have conversations. He understands and speaks with ease. Quinn is teaching him far less basic vocabulary now, words like _circumference_ and _grand_ , the names of plants, obscure adverbs. She has taught him the words for body parts, taking a perverse sort of joy, Kurt thinks, when she got to the _private_ ones. She even tried to give him some sort of sex lesson, but he had put his fingers in his ears and sung loudly until she finally gave up. So they have continued the lessons. Kurt has been incessant about it, obsessed with learning and memorizing so he can think of something other than Blaine, telling himself how impressed Blaine will be when he returns and Kurt can speak so well.

Because he _will_ return. Kurt tells himself this over and over when doubt creeps in, because he does doubt it. All the time. Sometimes the fear of having lost Blaine for good grips him so tight he has trouble breathing. It is pathetic, Kurt has also told himself more than once, to realize the depths of your feelings for someone when they aren’t even there.  It isn’t that he didn’t _know_ , he just didn’t know how _much_. Hadn’t let himself. But now, all he has is time to think.

\----

Kurt drags his feet, not bothering to change from the clothes he slept in, hair uncombed. He’s sleepy and he just wants some breakfast, maybe then he’ll care. The clearing is unusually noisy this morning, and Kurt lets out a small, grumpy huff as his feet hit the ground. He turns toward the fire pit and stops short when he sees Finn off to the right. Finn is next to his horse, helping down a woman Kurt has never seen before with long brown hair. It’s enough to momentarily distract him from the fact that it’s _Finn_. Finn is back.

Which means…

Kurt looks around wildly, heart lodged in his throat. Everyone is back, it’s noisy because everyone is here. _Please, let it be everyone_ , Kurt thinks desperately, when he hears laughter. He knows that laugh, it pulls at something in his chest; _but where?_

And then he sees it, sandy brown with a black mane, _Blaine’s horse_. And Blaine. He’s _here_ , sitting atop his stallion, hands on the reins, guiding his horse into the clearing. He’s wearing the shirt Kurt made him. He’s tan and beautiful and almost unrecognizable. He’s returned with enough facial hair to be considered no mere scruff, and the hair on his head is longer and sticking out in unusual tufts. He looks so different, but Kurt would know those lion’s eyes anywhere, the endearing point of his eyebrows. The sun glows behind Blaine in a halo of gold, but the real light comes when Blaine smiles down at him, and Kurt is ready to climb right over the horse to get to him.

Blaine saves him the trouble, sliding down his horse with ease. Seeing Blaine there, whole and alive, sets Kurt’s heart at ease, and then all at once, aflame. He crosses the distance between them, stopping short in front of Blaine, ignoring the grin on his face, the tunic he’s chosen to wear. That _ridiculous_ beard.

“You couldn’t have said goodbye to me?” Kurt snaps. It’s like a dam breaking, spilling out his feeling.  “You didn’t think it would _behoove you_ to wake me up and tell me a kindness or two before you _abandoned me_ for _months_? You brought me here and you…you made me _like_ you! And that’s how you treat me?”

Blaine simply stands there through Kurt’s tirade with an incredulous sort of open-mouthed smile on his face, it’s so stupid that Kurt is tempted to pounce and maim.

“Well! Don’t you have anything to say?” His voice rises.

Blaine’s jaw finally finds itself in working condition, but his expression far from sobers. “You can speak!” he says. “And so well! I don’t even know what behoove _means_ \--”

“Of course I can! What do you think I’ve been doing all this time? Knitting!?” Kurt says, physically stopping himself from stomping a foot or pummeling Blaine’s stupid chest with his fists. His face goes hot and his eyes prickle with the threat of tears, infuriated that Blaine would focus on something so trivial when Kurt is clearly angry with him.

Blaine raises his hands, palms up, as though to placate. “No, no, it’s only that I was so used to hearing your language that I hadn’t expected to be able to talk to you--”

“I don’t _care_. Are you pleased to be back, or am I just some amusement for you?” Kurt asks, his voice embarrassingly thick.

“ _Kurt_.” Blaine says his name so softly, to hear it again in his voice, the way he draws it out just a little, the way he says it like no one else, is almost enough to make Kurt forget his anger. “I’m sorry. I knew you were still half-asleep when I left, but I was afraid if I’d stayed longer I wouldn’t have been able to leave, and I had to go.” Blaine touches his fingers to Kurt’s cheeks, and then his whole hands, framing Kurt’s face, eyes searching. It doesn’t soothe Kurt as likely intended, not exactly. “I missed you, I missed you so much there aren’t words in my language to describe it. …Well, maybe you know them, but I don’t.”

Kurt’s reply come out hushed. “I missed you too.”

Blaine smiles so sweetly that Kurt can’t help but smile back. “But I’m still mad at you,” he’s quick to add.

Blaine presses their foreheads together with a sigh. “Quinn warned me you might end up stabbing me with that knife I gave you.”

“That was an _odd_ gift.”

“It was to protect yourself! Or to hunt with.”

“Do I look like I’m the sort to go hunting?” Kurt asks, hands finding their way to the front of Blaine’s shirt and holding on.

“I wouldn’t disbelieve it,” Blaine says, tracing Kurt’s bicep. “It looks like you’ve put on some muscle.”

Kurt’s face goes warm. “Well, your house is only accessible by _ladder_ , and there’s a lot of gardening to be done, and it takes more muscle than you’d think!”

“Gardening?” Blaine’s smile grows, finally meeting his eyes.

Kurt huffs. “Yes, you may be Mr. Jungle Huntsman, but it’s all Gatherer over here.”

“ _Kurt_ ,” Blaine says, his voice hooking Kurt somewhere deep and tugging.

Kurt doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say to that, but it doesn’t matter because before he can even think, Blaine is cupping his face in both hands and crashing their lips together. Kurt lets out a surprised sound, an overwhelming wash of relief flooding his veins. Blaine must have imagined hesitancy from him, because he begins to pull away. Kurt claws at Blaine’s shirt, fisting it to drag him closer still, and deepens the kiss. Blaine’s arms wrap around him, then, sounds coming from him that Kurt has never heard, this mixture of needy whines and pleasured moans. Blaine is holding him so tightly, hands re-mapping hair and skin and angles and Kurt can’t move, but doesn’t want to. They kiss until Kurt is breathless, until a voice calls out, _get a room!_ and another responds, _don’t!_

Blaine breaks away with a breathy laugh, and Kurt doesn’t even have it in him to blush. He reaches up, fingertips trailing a curious path along Blaine’s jaw, through the beard, and even further, to feel the tufts of hair that used to be curls. Blaine looks very much the Wildling Kurt imagined from the stories he heard when he was a child.

Blaine traces the planes of Kurt’s face with his lips, beard tickling and scratching, lingering when he reaches Kurt’s mouth. “Still so very beautiful,” he murmurs.

Kurt flounders a little, looking down. It’s so strange to hear Blaine speak and be able to understand him, and then he has to go and say something like that. All those days spent worrying, wondering if Blaine would return, and when he did, if he would still look at Kurt the same way.

“Thank you. So are you,” Kurt says, making Blaine’s smile deepen. He covers Blaine’s hands with his. “Why don’t you put your horse away?”

“Come with me?”

Kurt nods, not intending to let Blaine out of his sight for a long time.

Blaine hands Kurt the reins and unloads his bags from the horse’s back, first, taking them over to his tree’s lift-basket to bring inside later. They walk side by side to the fenced-in area for mounts, a large pasture where the trees are sparse and the grass is plentiful. At the moment Kurt can’t see, but can sense, Blaine next to him. When they reach the pen, Blaine releases his stallion into it, and Kurt watches as Blaine closes the gate. Kurt’s hands curl around the wooden fence rail and the worry that has plagued him for these past two months makes itself known, not satisfied with what Blaine has already shown him.

“I’m relieved you still want me.”

Blaine doesn’t say anything right away, and Kurt can’t look, afraid that this has all been some trick. The kiss, the words, the look in Blaine’s eyes.

“Of course I do,” Blaine says, his voice rough-sounding. Kurt finally looks up. “I always have. Quinn said I had to win your favor. I didn’t know how, I’ve tried—I’d do anything for it.”

“You have it,” Kurt says, cutting Blaine off, pleading with his eyes for Blaine to believe him.

 “You really missed me?” Blaine whispers. He looks so earnestly touched, so moved, that Kurt wants to erase every shred of doubt from his mind.

“So much, I—I just want you to take me home and to lay with me in the bed,” Kurt starts to say, but Blaine is kissing him again before he can finish. Kurt wraps his arms around Blaine’s shoulders and kisses back, marveling once more at how perfect it feels. Blaine lifts him and Kurt winds his legs around Blaine’s waist as he starts to walk back into the jungle.

Kurt breaks the kiss with a laugh. “You’re going to walk into a tree,” he says, hushed, against Blaine’s ear.

“You asked me to take you home,” Blaine says, and Kurt has to close his eyes a moment he’s so happy. “Do you know a better way?”

Kurt slides down and takes Blaine’s hand. “I know a short-cut.”

\----

Blaine kisses Kurt the moment they’re through the door, backing him against the wall, as though he would ever try to escape. Kurt loops his arms around Blaine’s neck, melting against him, telling Blaine how badly he missed him with each tiny moan and swipe of his tongue.  Blaine’s mouth is relentless, his hands pawing over Kurt’s body, throat sounding a frustrated groan as he rucks Kurt’s shirt up. It isn’t enough, and the kiss breaks so Blaine can yank it off him.

 “Careful,” Kurt scolds without meaning it. Blaine ducks down to kiss his neck. His beard scratches and tickles, and Kurt laughs, squirming.

“Mm, Kurt?” Blaine murmurs against his collarbone.

“It’s your beard, Wildling, I can’t help it.”

Blaine looks up with a smile. “Wildling?”

“What my people call you. A Wild man.”

There’s a sly tilt to Blaine’s lips. “And am I very wild?”

“The most wild creature I’ve ever met.”

“I suppose that makes you…my little fawn.”

“A _fawn_? I’m not a _baby_ ,” Kurt complains.

“You’re my baby, my little fawn,” Blaine teases, nuzzling Kurt’s neck and collarbone, sending shivers and tickles along his skin.

“And you’re awful and I should have just found someone else to lay with.” Kurt says in an indignant rush, He regrets the words as soon as they’re out of his mouth, especially when he sees the way Blaine’s mouth parts, smile disappearing.

“Has there been?” Blaine asks, sounding like he can barely make the words.

“Of course not,” Kurt scoffs, trying to make light of it. “I don’t know why I said that.” But he does, in a way, because he has worried that Blaine would have.

“You could have.”

“I didn’t want to,” Kurt says firmly. His voice softens a moment later, just a tremor of upset. “I was devastated when you left, though.”

Blaine looks like his heart is breaking just a little, and his voice is equally soft, strained. “I didn’t want to.”

Kurt takes a breath. “Did you? Um.” He wets his lips with his tongue. “I mean, was there anyone for you?” His heart is pounding, knowing there could have been. Blaine may care for him, but it’s not like either of them had committed to each other, and Kurt well knows how prone young men in the kingdom are to infidelity. He’d heard all the gossip.

“No. There’s only you, Kurt.” Blaine’s hand comes to rest on his jaw.

Kurt wants to dance, he’s so relieved. He wants to kiss Blaine silly, and is about to, when Blaine continues.

“That’s why I grew the beard.”

 Kurt shakes his head, not understanding what a beard has to do with anything. “Huh?”

“This climate is too hot for beards,” Blaine says. “It sends a message.  It says I’m waiting to be yours, no one else can have me.”

Kurt’s eyebrows raise and his face warms. “How long would you wait?”

Blaine presses his mouth to Kurt’s in a chaste kiss, face so close Kurt can barely make it out, and says in a tender voice, “Until you were mine. Or I didn’t love you anymore.”

Kurt can’t speak, can’t think beyond Blaine’s statement to form the words. Blaine steals the moment from him with another kiss. _Blaine loves me_. Even after months apart, after barely being able to communicate, after not truly knowing how Kurt felt…

“Can we shave it,” Kurt whispers, “so everyone will know I’m yours?”

Blaine smiles and nods, running his fingers along Kurt’s own smooth cheeks. “Right now?”

“Please?” Kurt asks, touching Blaine’s beard on the opposite side Blaine is touching him.

\----

They open the door and windows to let in as much light as possible, setting up supplies on a small table. Blaine sits, shirtless, and Kurt has to try very hard not to let himself get distracted. He offers to cut Blaine’s hair first, saying if he doesn’t a bird may land in it and make himself a nest. Blaine agrees, and Kurt runs his fingers through the messy tufts, tutting quietly at how unruly it’s gotten. He hums as he works, chastising Blaine every time Blaine tries to move his head, says he doesn’t want to end up cutting off an ear. When he’s finished, he cards his fingers through the remaining, shorter curls, rubbing a gentle massage against Blaine’s scalp until he sees goosebumps along the back of Blaine’s neck.

“How does it look?” he asks, holding up the piece of mirror in front of them, leaning against Blaine’s back.

Blaine smiles, but he’s mostly looking at Kurt’s reflection. “Beautiful,” he says quietly. Kurt blushes, impulsively leaning in to nuzzle the spot behind Blaine’s ear.

Blaine asks Kurt to keep the mirror in place so he can trim and shave his beard, but when he reaches for the scissors, Kurt pipes up. “Wait.”

“Kurt?” Blaine asks, a curious lift of his eyebrows.

“May I?” Kurt asks, hesitant and shy. If the beard symbolizes that Blaine is waiting to be Kurt’s, Kurt wants to be the one to remove it.

“You want to shave my beard?”

“If you trust me to,” Kurt says, beginning to second guess.

“No, I trust you,” Blaine is quick to say, fixing Kurt with an easy smile. He takes the mirror from Kurt’s hands, setting it on the floor. “Please.”

Kurt moves from behind Blaine and bites his lip, steps closer, their knees bumping. Blaine is gazing at him, a certain weight to his look, but Kurt pays it no mind, instead focusing on cutting away at all the excess hair that would be too difficult to simply shave.

“I missed you so much,” Kurt murmurs. “I didn’t know-- I hadn’t realized how important you had become to me. I was so lonely. Before I came here, but especially when you were gone.” Voice thick with emotion, stomach twisting slightly with the show of vulnerability, Kurt carefully sets down the scissors. Blaine says nothing, so Kurt applies water and soap, lathering Blaine’s beard until the lower half of his face is covered with white, fluffy foam. He dries his hand, takes the razor, and tips Blaine’s chin up, straddling Blaine’s lap so he has an easier time of it. He can feel Blaine’s eyes on him, but he tries to focus on the task at hand, wanting to do a good job.

Blaine stills Kurt’s hand before he can begin, holding him by the wrist. He takes the knife from Kurt and sets it gently on the little table next to them. “I want you to be my mate,” he says, just like that, out of nowhere.

Kurt blushes, startled. “Aren’t I?” he asks, hushed.

Blaine’s mouth twists into a frown and he looks down, brows set in consternation. “I mean,” he begins to say, as though struggling to find the words. “Forever. For good.”

“Like _marriage_?” Kurt asks with a sudden intake of breath. But the word ‘marriage’ isn’t Maelin and Kurt doesn’t know a translation for it. He didn’t even know Blaine’s people _did_ marry. Before Blaine can even ask, Kurt adds, “You want us to promise our lives to each other?”

Blaine begins to nod and smile, opening his mouth to reply, but Kurt cuts him off, grabbing him by the shoulders. “Yes! Yes I will!” He says in an excited rush.

Shock crosses Blaine’s expression for a split second before his whole face lights up. “Really? Yes?”

“Yes!” Kurt repeats, beaming. He’d always expected to be betrothed to a woman of Sue’s choosing, but here he is free to not only be with a man, but a man _he_ wants. A man he _loves_. Blaine kisses him out of his thoughts, and Kurt laughs suddenly, pulling away. “No, gods—you’ll get me all soapy—”

Blaine just grins and frames Kurt’s face in his hands, capturing his mouth again in a soapy kiss. Kurt hums appreciatively. Before it has a chance to become too heated, he pulls back. The practical side of him wants to finish shaving Blaine so they can be done with it. “Wait until I’m finished here, hm?” he murmurs, wiping at his face.

“You really want to be mine?” Blaine asks in a soft voice, sounding slightly uncertain and a lot awed.

“Yes, Blaine, I really do,” Kurt replies with a shy smile. This seems to assure Blaine for the moment, but he pipes back up as Kurt applies more foam to make up for the loss.

“I love you, Kurt,” he says, sounding breathless and aching.

Kurt swears he can feel his heart beating harder. “I love you, too,” he whispers, gazing down at that sweet, beautiful face he has missed so much. The foam, though, is ruining the moment a little, and a small laugh escapes. “You need to stop saying things like this when I’m trying to shave you.”

Blaine’s smile widens, and he leans in to try, but this time Kurt is quicker and stops him. It takes a lot of self-control. “Ah-ah. Let’s get this done, and then I’ll kiss you so much you’ll wish we hadn’t started.”

“I doubt that,” Blaine says, and he looks so earnest, as though Kurt was being serious, that Kurt has to laugh again.

“We shall see,” Kurt says, inspecting the foam on Blaine’s face to make sure he’s ready.

“Has anyone explained the mating ritual to you?” Blaine asks.

“Well, I know what a _marriage_ ceremony entails. But I will not be in a dress, no matter what anyone thinks,” Kurt says, picking the razor back up.

“Tell me about your ceremony.”

“Alright, but you need to hush for a moment,” Kurt says, holding Blaine’s face with one hand. He tilts Blaine’s face and drags the razor along his jaw, scraping off foam and hair and leaving a clean stripe of skin behind. Kurt concentrates, focuses on a clean, close shave. When he speaks back up it’s almost an afterthought. “A man and woman exchange vows and rings in a church, and a priest officiates it before all the gods.”

“And that’s all?”

“Sometimes there’s a party afterwards.”

“Ours is much different—”

“Shh,” Kurt chides, dragging the blade along Blaine’s cheek, nearing the delicate curve of his chin, so careful not to cut or nick. The razor makes a soft scraping sound. Kurt’s movements are precise, foam and hair swept along a towel on each pass. Soon Blaine’s face is all but bare, and it’s only then that Kurt ventures a glance at Blaine’s eyes.

Blaine is gazing at him intently, like an animal poised to jump. Kurt lets the rest of the world bleed back in and can feel Blaine hard beneath him, pressed up against the underside of Kurt’s thigh. Kurt licks his lower lip. “Your neck, now,” he says, his voice sounding thick, and tips Blaine’s head back. He ignores the touch of Blaine’s fingertips suddenly on his hips, and shaves under Blaine’s jawline, over the bob in his throat, praying desperately for his hands to hold steady just a few moments longer. Once Blaine’s throat is smooth, Kurt wipes it with the towel and can’t help but lean in to press his lips to it in a kiss.

 “We don’t have any priests,” Blaine says, and it takes Kurt a moment to realize what he’s referring to. When he does, warmth swells in Kurt’s chest and he can’t help himself, pressing his hips forward curiously, pinning Blaine’s hardness underneath him. Blaine’s hands find the swell of his ass and squeeze. “I’ll claim you as my own in front of the tribe and we’ll show them proof of our love.”

“How do we prove it?” Kurt asks, experimentally rocking his hips because _oh_ , that feels _good_.

“Remember the night before I left? Like I proved it to you then,” Blaine says, and his hand comes between them boldly to cup Kurt’s cock.

“By—?” Kurt blushes, pausing in his movement with a sharp, stuttered sound. “We’re going to do _that_ in front of everyone?”

“That’s the ritual,” Blaine says. His voice is husky, his hand rubbing rhythmically up and down.

“Blaine,” Kurt whispers, arms braced on Blaine’s shoulders, fingers grasping helplessly at his hair. Blaine’s hand feels so good that his body threatens to slump forward, boneless, completely at Blaine’s mercy. He can’t think about rituals right now, not with the way Blaine is touching him. He leans in, angles to kiss him instead, eyes closed halfway. “Please…”

“You aren’t afraid now?” Blaine whispers against his lips.

“I’ve been pleasuring myself nearly every day since you’ve been gone,” Kurt admits.

Blaine pulls back and looks up at him with a stunned expression. Kurt smiles slowly under his gaze, wanting to preen.

“With your hand?” Blaine whispers, and squeezes. Kurt whimpers softly and curls closer to Blaine, arching his hips toward Blaine’s hand, moving against it.

“Yes,” he says in this little embarrassing whine. “Wasn’t ever as good as when you did it, though. I want you to again, Blaine, _please_ …”

Blaine’s eyes are dark and focused on Kurt’s. He rubs Kurt through his pants, gives a gentle squeeze, nuzzles his neck, kisses it. “I will,” Blaine says, sucking suddenly behind Kurt’s ear, down along his neck, lifting Kurt and himself with his hands bracketing Kurt’s hips. Kurt instinctively wraps his legs around Blaine’s waist, holds on tight as Blaine carries him to the bed. Blaine lays him down, but is far from gentle, practically tearing at his pants to get them open and off.

Kurt tries to touch Blaine, but Blaine takes his wrists and pins them above his head. The pressure of his hands tightens as he whispers a harsh, “Keep them there, just like that,” and then disappear. Blaine’s hands skate along Kurt’s sides and Kurt keeps his arms up as instructed, feeling especially vulnerable, stretched out, belly-up, with Blaine’s mouth and hands mapping a path down his body.

Kurt can only watch, taking in the sight of Blaine’s lips dragging along his skin, kissing all that he can, tongue peeking out to taste, hands cradling his hips. He feels worshipped, and wonders if that’s what it is to be mated, to worship each other in words and touch and thought.

Blaine avoids Kurt’s cock as his mouth nips and nuzzles the skin of his hipbone and lower, down to his thigh. _Something_ \- the warm puffs of breath, the closeness - makes Kurt squirm and beg in quiet pleas.

Blaine’s eyes meet his and finally, with a small cry of relief, Kurt feels Blaine’s hand on his swollen cock. Kurt’s knees draw up, legs wide around Blaine’s body, toes digging into the blankets. He bites his lip as Blaine’s hand begins to move, drawing slow strokes up and down the length of him. Kurt did this sometimes, when it was dark and he was alone, to get himself ready – but he’s ready _now_ and he needs more.

“Don’t tease,” Kurt says, hushed, raising his hips to push himself into the circle of Blaine’s hand. Kurt feels Blaine’s other hand on his balls and squirms because it’s so good, but it’s like Blaine is just _playing_ with him.

“Is that what I’m doing?” Blaine asks, gently massaging, his hands everywhere all at once.

“Please, Blaine,” Kurt begs, rubbing his calf along the outside of Blaine’s thigh.

Blaine hums softly and lowers his face. Before Kurt can even understand what’s happening, Blaine’s mouth encloses over the head of his cock. Kurt gasps, sudden wet heat sending sparks along his skin and a trembling tremor along each nerve inside his body. Blaine’s mouth doesn’t stop until he’s swallowed almost all of Kurt’s cock, and Kurt can only gape, fingers curling into the pillows, legs wanting to kick.

“Blaine,” he lets out on a long exhale, and cries out as Blaine begins to _suck_. It feels wholly unlike Blaine’s hand, more intense, so hot and perfect and unlike anything Kurt could ever imagine. Blaine crawls up even further toward Kurt’s body and begins to pull off.

“ _Nopleasestay_ ,” Kurt says in a rush, grabbing at Blaine’s hair to keep his face there.

Blaine moans in response, sliding back down, and as he starts to pull up against the tightening of Kurt’s fingers, Kurt _gets_ it. Blaine’s mouth is like his hand, and suddenly Kurt is trying to direct Blaine’s head up and down faster, letting out little whimpers. Blaine grunts and moves a hand to try and hold Kurt’s hips still, but it’s like Kurt is possessed and he _can’t_. He needs more, more. Kurt tries thrusting into Blaine’s mouth, but it makes Blaine falter, saliva escaping his mouth, the suction disappearing. Blaine’s hands hold Kurt’s hips down, fingers almost bruisingly hard, and he bobs his head faster, groaning, staring up at Kurt.

Kurt writhes under Blaine’s hold, hips begging to arch, hands in tight fists in Blaine’s hair. He keeps making these _sounds_ that he can’t hold in, he can’t hold back, and comes down Blaine’s throat with a sharp cry. Blaine sucks and swallows and Kurt, panting, has to push Blaine’s head away when it becomes too much. He doesn’t see if Blaine finishes himself off; it’s like he’s in a daze until Blaine is _right there_ , lips swollen and red. Blaine kisses him soundly, holding his face in his hands.

Kurt weakly lifts his arms, looping them around Blaine’s neck, kissing back at a slow, lazy pace. Blaine’s mouth and tongue taste unusual, and Kurt realizes it’s his come he’s tasting. He moans softly and suckles gently at Blaine’s tongue. If he could, he’d be hard again.

When they’re both breathless once more, Blaine breaks away, laying down next to Kurt and gathering him in his arms to lie against his chest.

“I can’t believe you put that in your mouth,” Kurt says, still dazed and happy.

Blaine smiles in amusement, petting Kurt’s hair. “It tasted good. I wanted to.”

 “Oh.” He blushes, beginning to doze, when he realizes with a start that Blaine still has his pants on. “ _Oh_. What about you?” Kurt asks, craning his head to look at Blaine.

“Shh, I’m fine,” Blaine says.

“Are you sure?”

“Sleep, little fawn,” Blaine says with a soft smile.

Kurt returns the smile and doesn’t argue, turning his face back to rest against Blaine’s chest, relaxing. It’s quiet, Kurt’s eyelids growing steadily heavier, both of their breathing evening out. “I love you,” Kurt whispers. He feels Blaine kiss his face and his grip tighten just a little, and then sleep takes him.

\----

Kurt wakes up to the feeling of something rubbing against his lips and Blaine quietly murmuring his name.

“Wake up,” he hears, and grumbles softly in reply, not wanting to wake up. He hasn’t slept well since Blaine has been gone, and his orgasm seems to have put him under a spell. “Kurt?”

Kurt grudgingly opens his eyes when he feels something nudge his mouth again. The world swims into focus, mostly, and it’s Blaine’s cock. Blaine is hovering over him, wet and gleaming, tanned skin glowing and clean, cock in hand. He’s dragging the tip of it along Kurt’s lips, spreading pre-come. Kurt’s mouth parts involuntarily to taste.

“Kurt,” Blaine breathes out, nudging more insistently. “Open up, Kurt. Let me.”

Kurt makes a quiet sound in acquiescence, too sleepy to feel nervous or uncomfortable at the idea of Blaine putting that in his mouth. He opens wide and wider as Blaine slides in, eyes blinking closed. Blaine is telling him to cover his teeth with his lips, and he obeys, hands coming up to hug the back of Blaine’s thighs. His eyes open a crack and he groans softly at the weight and feeling of his mouth being filled. Blaine is larger than him, thicker, and Kurt’s jaw is strained, but not unpleasantly so. He keeps his tongue flat, cradling the underside of Blaine’s cock. It tastes like clean skin tinged with the slight tang of pre-come, and Kurt gives a few weak sucks. He’s so tired, but he wants to be good for Blaine.

Blaine moans and murmurs encouragement as he slowly slides his cock in and out. His hands fall into Kurt’s hair and pull, making Kurt’s eyes water. Kurt whines, shudders lightly. It seems to set Blaine off, his hands tip Kurt’s head back and his cock slides with purpose, in deep, almost out, over and over. It’s a steady rhythm, but even in his groggy state Kurt can sense an undercurrent of Blaine so close to losing control. Kurt’s hands clench and unclench at the backs of Blaine’s thighs, breathing hard through his nose, trying not to gag. He can feel his own dick aching, but it’s like a dull afterthought, so much of his senses overtaken by Blaine’s cock in his mouth and its stuttering movements.

Blaine’s thrusts increase, become more erratic. Kurt makes a muffled sound around his cock, reaches his hands up to Blaine’s hips as though to guide them, but Blaine pulls away, slides out.

“Keep your mouth open,” Blaine says, voice strained. Kurt, panting, opens his eyes just in time to see Blaine come. It hits his tongue, some of it misses and hits his lips, his cheek. He watches in a daze, cock giving another twinge of arousal.

Blaine finishes and leans in, kissing him messily. Kurt, still half-asleep, kisses back, eyes closing once more.

“Was I good?”

“You were so good,” Kurt hears Blaine whisper before he falls back asleep.

\----

Kurt dreams he’s in a bath. The water inside is warm and slowly heating up. There are bubbles.  It’s lovely.

Kurt wakes to Blaine pumping his cock, and he whimpers, mouth parting around a moan. “Blaine, too much” he whines in a tiny voice, forcing his eyes open.

“Kurt,” Blaine says reverently, face so close, eyes so awake and intent. “Did you think about me when you touched yourself? When I was gone, is it this you would think of?”

“Yes,” Kurt moans, tipping toward him, shaky hands grasping to hold onto something.

“ _Kurt_ ,” Blaine says, stroking his cock lightly, cupping his balls, hands sliding up his legs, just touching.

“Mm,” is all Kurt can muster, and curls in toward Blaine, sleep dragging him back under.

\----

When Kurt wakes again, he’s on his stomach, hips raised by pillows underneath him. His cheeks are spread and there’s warm, wet lapping against his hole. It’s so unexpected he doesn’t even know how to process it, and at first all he can do is _feel_ , the pleasure of whatever’s happening making him shudder.

“Please,” he whispers without thinking, pressing back. It’s Blaine’s face. Blaine’s hands are holding him apart and it’s his tongue and Kurt is still groggy enough that he doesn’t care, just _wants_.

“Yeah,” he says as Blaine’s tongue circles the rim, Kurt’s face mashed into the bed mattress. “ _Yeah_.”

Blaine moans and starts to suck at his skin and Kurt cries out, eyes squeezed closed. Blaine sucks harder, starts to move his tongue, starts to press against the opening with it until he’s inside, wet tongue and hot breath in and out, and Kurt humps slowly into the pillow, moaning without end. Wave after wave of pleasure and he’s hard, needing to come again. Blaine plays and teases and eases up a little, and Kurt’s saliva dampens the blanket under his cheek.

“Mm, Blaine,” Kurt exhales on a soft moan, melting into the mattress as Blaine’s tongue slows, circles his hole lazily.

Kurt dozes, floating in between sleep and muddled consciousness.

His eyes flash open when he feels something firm reaching inside him. He gasps, tenses, tries to pull himself awake.

“Blaine?” he whimpers, confused by what’s happening.

“Shh, little fawn, relax,” Blaine answers, his voice soft and slightly hoarse.

Kurt is too preoccupied by the strange feeling of whatever Blaine is doing to tell him not to call him that. “What are you doing?”

“Getting you ready with fingers and oil.” Blaine moves, draping his body almost entirely over Kurt’s back, kissing at his shoulders and neck. “Please, I want to be inside you. Say yes, Kurt.”

“I—I don’t understand…”

Blaine’s finger circles his rim and he cries out softly.

“I want to join with you,” Blaine says, sucking at the skin beneath his ear, finger circling faster and reaching back in. It feels good in certain moments, but strange, and maybe not entirely pleasant. “I want to fill you up with my cock and my come. Want to fuck you.”

“I…”

Blaine’s finger pulls out only to return a moment later, even slicker and warmer than before. The pressure increases and Kurt realizes he must be using two fingers now, stretching and reaching deep inside. Kurt is about to protest, to tell Blaine no, when he feels a sudden, soft jolt of pleasure.

“ _Blaine_ ,” he moans, pressing his hips up, seeking out that feeling. “ _Yes_.” Blaine grunts, mouthing at his neck, and begins to stroke with his fingers, and he must have added more with how the pressure increases. They find that place and massage it over and over, thrusting steadily, making Kurt grind his hips, making him beg in nonsense sounds. Kurt is panting shallowly by the time Blaine stops, pulling out his fingers and pulling Kurt back against him by his waist. He clamps a hand around the base of Kurt’s cock, holding Kurt’s boneless body flush with his.

“Don’t come yet,” he says against Kurt’s ear.

Kurt moans piteously and tries to regain his breath when he feels something blunt and much larger pushed up against his entrance. He hisses and tries to move away when it starts to press in, but he’s stopped by a firm hand around his hip.

“Shh,” Blaine whispers, returning Kurt to his previous face down, sprawled position. Blaine drags his hips up and presses in more insistently. Blaine’s cock is slick and warm but too big, too much pressure, and Kurt bites down on the blanket underneath his face. He groans, wants to buck and get Blaine off him, but at the same time he wants _more_. It hurts but it’s _Blaine_ , and there’s something primal and satisfying at being filled like this. At having Blaine _inside_ him. It makes his stomach swoop and his skin flush.

Blaine pushes and pushes until Kurt is letting out these tiny, tearless sobs, hands white-knuckled and clenching the blankets. Blaine groans in pleasure, face pressed to Kurt’s back. Kurt wonders if this is it, if this is how it is between men since men don’t have a place for birthing, bodies fitting together like this, skin against skin, ragged breath and nerves on fire.

“ _Blaine_ ,” Kurt pleads, for what, he doesn’t know.

And then Blaine moves. It’s a slow drag out, but he doesn’t leave completely, slowing pushing back in, filling Kurt up. It continues like this, slow and careful, and soon the pain and worry ebbs and Kurt finds himself shifting, almost impatient, feeling on the verge of something and wanting it. “Feels so good, Blaine,” he says, sounding drunkenly. “Why…why does it feel so good?”

Blaine doesn’t answer but to thrust back in, quicker this time. Kurt moans, long and low, and Blaine does it again and again. Kurt’s head is bowed, forehead pressed to the bed and thighs trembling.

“Like this?” Blaine breathes out, hips pumping.

“Blaine, gods, _please_ ,” Kurt whines, and it’s like something snaps. Blaine picks up speed, cursing and moaning. His hands clamp around Kurt’s hips, holding Kurt steady as he fucks into him, each thrust harder than the last. Kurt can hardly breathe, caught between pleasure and pain, helpless. But Blaine isn’t holding back, he’s pounding into Kurt and Kurt can’t even form the words to ask him to slow down. Doesn’t even know if he wants Blaine to. Something sparks inside and makes Kurt gasp, makes him moan, makes him push back against Blaine to get him to do that again.

Blaine squeezes his asscheeks, grinds into him, and Kurt cries out, trying to rise up on his forearms and failing. “Blaine, please…need you to touch me…”

Panting Kurt’s name, Blaine reaches around his body and grasps his cock. He gives two pulls and it’s all Kurt can take. Kurt comes, wrenching out a long, whimpering moan, followed by Blaine’s name.

Blaine growls and slides his hand through the come, hugging Kurt’s body to his, bringing them both vertical. Blaine fucks into him with enough strength that Kurt bounces in his lap. Kurt reaches behind him to hold on, but it isn’t long before Blaine comes hot inside him. Kurt keens and turns his face, biting at Blaine’s shoulder to muffle the sound.

Blaine holds him for a long while, arms around Kurt’s middle, before he finally lays them down, breathing heavily, and kisses Kurt’s face. Kurt is sore and exhausted and his eyes are already threatening to close, but he tips his face toward Blaine’s mouth and holds tight to him. Blaine wipes up some of the mess and stretches his body out alongside Kurt’s, still laying gentle kisses across his skin. He smiles at Kurt, so tender and sweet, it’s almost overwhelming. Kurt loves Blaine so much. _So much_.

“You have exhausted me, Wildling,” Kurt says, instead of trying to put words to what he’s really feeling. He stretches out, returning the smile. “I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to leave this bed.”

Blaine traces nonsense patterns on Kurt’s skin, making Kurt shiver.

“Then I suppose I’ll have to stay with you,” he says, grinning.

“A nightmare,” Kurt says, getting a laugh out of Blaine. They’re quiet after that, gazing at each other. Eventually Kurt’s eyelids become too heavy to hold open, and sleep takes him once more.

\----

Kurt and Blaine sleep until there’s only an hour or two of daylight left. Kurt feels sated and content, if a little sore, but he ignores it. They walk together to the river to bathe and swim until Kurt complains about the temperature of the water. Blaine wraps him in a blanket and kisses him until his lips go numb. Kurt feels like he could float, become a bird and fly from how happy he is.

They return to their house with some food, something to tide them over until the bonfire later that night. They eat in bed, lounging, taking their time. Kurt ends up sitting with his back to Blaine’s chest, breaking off small pieces of his food and feeding them to Blaine while he regales him with what he missed in the months he was gone. None of it is particularly interesting, but there are some amusing stories, especially the ones involving Blaine’s older brother, Cooper, who Kurt spent some time with and would consider a good friend.

Blaine tells Kurt about how they traveled around mountains, the foliage becoming sparse and the trees becoming triangular and prickly. He says it hadn’t gotten cold, but it was a different sort of heat, and a different sort of area than they had ever been to because they hadn’t thought there would be anything that way due to the steep mountains. They’d found a city anyway, and he says it was nice, but more than anything he wants to try climbing one of those mountains sometime. Kurt isn’t so sure about something like that, but indulges Blaine, especially as Blaine feeds him berries. He promises to take Kurt next time if he has to go, and it’s an even greater comfort. He says he missed Kurt every day.

But it’s almost dusk, and Kurt knows they will have to leave for the bonfire, and now that he knows what’s expected of him to officially be Blaine’s mate, his stomach begins to turn, queasy twists of worry. As if Blaine can sense it, Kurt feels Blaine’s hand slide down past his abdomen, idly rubbing along his inner thighs, knuckles brushing against his cock. Kurt’s stomach gives a different sort of twist.

“Blaine,” Kurt asks, head resting in the crook of Blaine’s neck, “Why did you even like me at first?”

“Hm?”

“When you brought me here. You kissed me before you even knew who I was.”

“Oh.” Kurt can hear the smile in Blaine’s voice, feels Blaine’s mouth press momentarily against his temple in a kiss. “I thought you were pretty.”

Kurt huffs in exasperation. “That’s it? Do you often go around kissing pretty boys?”

Blaine does laugh now, his hand curling around Kurt’s hip. “Maybe. But you were the prettiest I had ever seen. I wanted to be very clear that I was interested in you.”

Kurt rolls his eyes. “I think we need to work on your people skills.”

“Mm,” Blaine nuzzles behind Kurt’s ear. “It worked, didn’t it?”

“Yes, I believe you gave me a concussion when you knocked me out that I’m still suffering from.”

“Oh?” Blaine’s hand slides from Kurt’s thigh to his crotch. He rubs teasingly at the undeniable bulge, making Kurt’s thighs clamp tight from instinct. “Are you suffering?”

“ _Blaine_ ,” Kurt whines, squirming against his chest. “ _Too much_.” Blaine’s touch is so light it’s maddening, but after an afternoon of being hard, and coming twice, there is also an edge of sensitivity.

“Mm. You’re right, we should save it for the ceremony,” Blaine says, though his hand seems to have no intention of stopping.

Kurt’s cheeks color and he frowns, gasping sharply when Blaine gives a gentle squeeze, wanting more despite himself.  “Blaine…I don’t think I can do that in front of everyone.”

“Why not?” Blaine asks, hand slipping under the waistband of Kurt’s pants.

Kurt lets out a helpless moan, trying to think around what Blaine’s doing with his hand. “But isn’t it…it’s _private_ , Blaine. I’ve never been naked in front of anyone but nursemaids and you. Isn’t it embarrassing?”

Blaine lifts Kurt, urges him up until his feet are on the ground. He pulls at the tie on Kurt’s pants and tugs them down, releasing Kurt’s hard and leaking cock, eliciting another tiny moan from him. “We’re all familiar with nudity,” Blaine says, tugging Kurt onto his lap, with Kurt’s back to him once more. His hand finds Kurt’s cock immediately, stroking. There is no teasing to his caresses, either, and Kurt’s mouth falls open. He squirms in Blaine’s lap, presses back against him, whimpers when Blaine’s other hand travels up his chest to play with his nipples. Kurt’s head tips back, face turned toward Blaine’s neck.

“We’ve all seen ourselves naked,” Blaine whispers hotly in his ear, fingers gathering his precome to help with the friction. “The children run around naked—”

“But they’re — _ah—_  children,” Kurt says, sucking in a breath when Blaine pinches at his nipple, bites at his earlobe.

“Don’t you want everyone to see how beautiful you are?” Blaine murmurs, trailing his mouth lower, lips and teeth teasing at Kurt’s neck.

“Well—” He can’t think, his own words mean nothing.

“Don’t you want to show them how good you make me feel?  They’ll see me reduced to a moaning, animal mess, and all because of you,” Blaine continues, pumping at Kurt’s cock with his hand. “Only you have such power over me and no other.”

“ _Please_ ,” Kurt whispers.

“Everyone will know that you’re mine, and I’m yours.”

Kurt cries out, hands locking around Blaine’s wrists, and comes with Blaine’s promise still hanging in the air.

 _You’re mine, and I’m yours_.

\----

Kurt can hear music and laughter before they even step into the clearing. The entire tribe has gathered in one place, young and old, and Kurt realizes just how large the community actually is. In the middle of it all is a bonfire, the flames of it lick high into the night sky and illuminate everyone with a flickering orange glow.

Kurt grasps Blaine’s hand tighter now that there are people around. Blaine smiles at him reassuringly, and his brightly colored face is enough to distract Kurt from nervousness. Body paint, Blaine had called it, was tradition for celebrations. Especially for them, since they were to be mated. They had covered each other in bright lines and swirls on each other’s face and chest and arms. Kurt had warned Blaine that having his hands all over Kurt’s naked body was going to make the mating ceremony happen ahead of schedule. Blaine had only laughed and tried to color Kurt’s armpit hair, resulting in a few messy splotches of blue and gold on Blaine’s ass in retaliation.

They’re dressed in nothing more than slips of cloth much like skirts, also for the mating ceremony, Blaine had said. Kurt sees when people start to _realize_ and he blushes, but keeps his chin held high. No one, aside from Sebastian, has been unkind to Kurt. Not for his homosexuality or that their leader has taken such a liking to him, so he knows he probably has nothing to worry about. Still, being so open and bold about it among others is new, and he can’t help but feel anxious.

Especially when Blaine stands on top of a large rock, bringing Kurt with him.

The crowd goes quiet as Blaine gives a speech about the trip, thanking the people who went with him and his brother for watching over the tribe in Blaine’s absence. Kurt tries to pay attention, but everyone is looking at them and it feels awkward to just be _lurking_ next to Blaine when he had nothing to do with the trading journey or upkeep while Blaine was away--

“…And now you’ll have a new co-leader, Kurt Hummel…”

Kurt’s head snaps toward Blaine. “Wait, what?” he asks quietly. Blaine hadn’t told him _that_.

“…Who has agreed to be my mate.” Blaine grins at Kurt and gives him a look like, _go on, say something_.

Kurt forces his eyeballs down from saucers to what he hopes is something normal looking, plasters a smile onto his face and waves, curling his fingers. “Hi.”

They applaud, like Kurt is actually a valid choice for _co-leader_ and he isn’t just some spoiled sixteen year old ex-royal who only recently learned how to start a _fire_. Blaine is just smiling dopily, like he isn’t a leader, like he doesn’t kill deer and wrestle boars and save people from sociopathic meerkat-faced tribe members. But maybe that’s why. Blaine looks happy. Truly, unabashedly happy. Maybe that’s why they care. And the fact that Kurt is even some small part of the reason Blaine is so happy is enough to make it hard to breathe.

Blaine ends the speech and leads Kurt, still in a daze, into the middle of the renewed celebration, receiving pats on the back and well wishes from nearly everyone they pass. Kurt is handed a drink and takes a sip unquestioningly. It’s sweet and warms his insides as it goes down. Blaine starts talking to Mike when Kurt spots Quinn, belly bared and colored in blue and purple swirls.

“So, he didn’t give you up for the first pretty thing he met in a faraway city after all,” she says with a sly smile.

Kurt can feel his cheeks warm and he rolls his eyes. “Can you really blame me for worrying?” he asks, throwing a glance at his extremely handsome, charming, vine-swinging, almost-mate.

“You’re selling yourself short.”

Kurt dismisses her comment with a wave of his hand and a small head shake, worried about other things at the moment. “So, here’s something you didn’t tell me-- how exactly am I supposed to co-lead a tribe I’ve been a part of for four months? No, forget that for now—you are _not_ allowed to come to this sex show, and, you know what, I think that will be my first decree as co-leader. No ritual public sex. Privacy, in some cases, in _many_ cases, is a good thing—”

Quinn cuts him off with a touch on his wrist. “You’re nervous. Drink more of that,” she says, giving his cup a nudge.

Kurt groans and takes a long drink, shivering slightly from the way it warms his stomach and his face.

“Anyway, like I’m going to miss your mating ceremony. Every time you make a weird noise I’m going to remember it to mock you with later for every time you were a snot to me during lessons,” Quinn says with a bright smile.

“You’re evil. I wouldn’t be surprised if that thing came out with two heads,” he says, motioning to her stomach.

“ _Hey now_ —”

“I hate to cut in, but I was wondering if Kurt would dance with me,” Blaine says, appearing at Kurt’s side.

“I would be delighted,” Kurt says primly, downing the rest of his drink and giving Quinn a wave goodbye.

The night continues with dancing and drinks and stories. Maybe it’s Blaine, or maybe it’s the drink, or maybe it’s the open night air and the freedom and friendship and _community_ that Kurt has never experienced before he came here. Maybe it’s everything. But whatever magic the evening holds, it makes Kurt loose-limbed and happy. He feels warm all over, like a living star in his own galaxy.

It gets to the point where Kurt forgets about the mating ceremony, and then Blaine is kissing him. It starts soft and languorous in the middle of a dance, Kurt’s mostly empty cup falling from his hand so he can hold onto Blaine instead. The kiss grows heated and Kurt’s knees feel wobbly, weak, stomach turning and skin warm. _Everything_ is warm, his body feels like a slow-burning fire, Blaine’s mouth and fingers making Kurt quiver, hungry for more. Blaine’s tongue licks into Kurt’s mouth, teasing at his, and Kurt sucks at it, tries to draw it deeper into his mouth. They kiss and time slows down, the world disappears; it’s just Blaine and heat consuming everything.  

Kurt finds himself flat on his back on the grass, Blaine on top of him. He isn’t sure when it happened, but the kisses are melting into something messy and hurried. Blaine’s mouth drags over Kurt’s chin, to his neck, turning kisses into licks into suction. Kurt moans low, legs shifting, thighs opening without thought, head tilting back to bare his neck. Blaine’s moan sounds like a growl as he sucks hard at the sensitive skin, teeth pressing, tongue swirling, sending lightning sparks straight to Kurt’s cock. Blaine moves Kurt’s head by his hair to arc his neck further and Kurt cries out softly, pulling against Blaine’s grip to feel the shock of pain wrapped in pleasure. He’s panting for it, hips moving restlessly against Blaine’s body until Blaine snaps and ruts against him, mouth dragging to a new spot to suck and bite and mark for everyone to see.

 _Everyone_.

Kurt’s eyes fly open and he finds people around them, still drinking, some talking to one another, but they’re watching. He feels a strange spike of arousal and another of embarrassment and tries to hide underneath Blaine’s body.

“They’re watching us,” Kurt whispers, shimmying until his face is buried in the crook of Blaine’s neck.

“That’s the point. Remember, Kurt? They want to see me love you,” Blaine says against his ear, voice lowered only for Kurt, hot breath making him shiver. “They want to see you _come_.”

Blaine’s hand smooths up his thigh, under his wrap, until Kurt feels warm fingers caressing his balls. He whines low in his throat, squirms, heart beating heavy under everyone’s collective gaze, forgetting them all the same when Blaine’s hand wraps possessively around his cock.

“Will you come for me?” Blaine asks in a whisper, fingers tracing the underside of Kurt’s cock, around the head where he’s especially sensitive.

“Please, yes,” Kurt whimpers piteously.

And then it’s just them. Kurt doesn’t forget the people gathered around them, but they cease to matter. All he sees is Blaine, all he hears is Blaine, all he feels, all around him, is _Blaine_. They don’t dwell on foreplay, both of them too desperate for each other to be patient. Blaine doesn’t even take off Kurt’s wrap, simply rucks it up while stretching him, drawing moan after pleading moan from Kurt. He can’t stay quiet, the sounds torn from his body with each press and twist of Blaine’s fingers. Kurt is still sore and oversensitive from earlier, but he wants it all the same.

When Blaine enters Kurt, the desperation eases some. Blaine frames Kurt’s shoulders and head between his arms, bracing himself on his elbows. He hovers over Kurt, making himself like a cocoon around him as his hips begin to rock. It’s like Blaine is shielding him, protecting him, even though they’re perfectly on display for all to see. Kurt reaches up to kiss Blaine, their mouths meeting soft and messy and open, tongues touching, punctured by low moans. Kurt brings his knees up further, locks his legs around Blaine, ankles hooked. They move together in a perfect rhythm, and when it gets toward too, too fast, when it’s so deliciously hard that they can’t kiss for fear of knocking teeth out, Kurt pulls his mouth back with a gasp, head back, neck bared, hips raised and pleading, _please just a little more_.

Blaine gives it to him, fills Kurt and makes him come, kissing his face, whispering _, I love you I love you I love you so much_.

The short hairs lining Blaine’s forehead are wet and curled and plastered against his skin, the hair at the top of his head a fluffy messy. The paint hasn’t fared very well, the sweat from their bodies and the slide of skin against skin has smeared it, mixing colors and patterns into a technicolor blur. Kurt can see his fingerprints on Blaine’s cheeks and shoulders, and Blaine’s lips are stained from kissing his face.

Honestly, he has never looked so beautiful.

“I promise, you won’t ever be lonely again,” Blaine whispers. Kurt is so overwhelmed by Blaine’s words, he doesn’t notice Blaine slipping a simple leather bracelet around his wrist until it’s on him. Blaine had put one on before they left, but Kurt had barely paid attention to it, assuming it was a decoration for the party, like the paint. It’s familiar, though, and he realizes he’s seen others wearing similar adornments. Quinn, for one.

“What’s this?” Kurt murmurs.

Blaine shows Kurt his own matching piece. “Symbols. To show I’m yours.”

 _Oh_.

“Mine,” Kurt says with a sated smile, circling his fingers around Blaine’s wrist, gazing into his eyes.

Blaine smiles softly. “Yours,” he says, and kisses Kurt once more. Around them Kurt can hear the sound of the party renewing, losing interest in them. He ignores it, curled up in Blaine’s arms.

\----

When morning comes the next day, a few thoughts enter Kurt’s mind before he has a chance to fully awaken.

The first is that he’s almost surprised not to wake up to Blaine’s cock in some form, as his new mate has proved himself to be something of a sexual beast. Even after the mating ceremony, Blaine wanted to engage once more before bed. Kurt had to warn Blaine to go easy on his penis or he wouldn't be able to do a _thing_ the next day.

The second is a realization; Blaine isn’t in bed with him. While Kurt had grown used to sleeping alone, he knows he shouldn’t be now. He has one wild, fleeting thought that it had all been a dream, and even rolls onto his side to check his tally board, but it’s still just a big smudge of black from wiping it away the day before.

He notices Blaine, then, across the room, his back to Kurt, facing the table, and a surge of relief washes over Kurt. He silently berates himself because it’s a little pathetic to get so worried at Blaine’s absence. Kurt shakes off the unsettled feeling and sits up, stretching and letting out a long yawn. He feels completely refreshed; better than he has in a very long time.

He catches Blaine smiling at him and returns it. “Good morning.”

“Good afternoon, more like, but we’ll pretend it’s morning,” Blaine say with a quick grin, and lifts a tray from the table to bring over to the bed.

“What’s all this?” Kurt asks, curious. Blaine sets it on the bed and crawls in next to Kurt. There are two plates of food, fresh fruit and little bowl of porridge, the smell of it making Kurt’s stomach rumble. He smiles over at Blaine, touched. “You made breakfast? Oh, you didn’t have to do that, Blaine.”

“I don’t _have_ to do much besides eating and sleeping, but I enjoy pleasing you,” Blaine says, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek.

“Which I learned very well yesterday,” Kurt says with a tiny smile, blushing when he realizes how boldly sexual his joke is.

Blaine laughs and kisses him on the mouth before settling in beside him. “Eat.”

They stop talking to eat, sitting in companionable quiet, feeding each other bits of their meal from time to time even though they both have the same food. Every now and then Blaine will lean in to taste the sweetness of the fruit from Kurt’s lips, or slip a cherry from his lips to Kurt’s.

“Please tell me you don’t have to go anywhere today,” Kurt says, when their meals are mostly done.

“No, today is a day of rest for everyone,” Blaine says, looking glad of the fact. “And anyway, I have some gifts I still need to give you.”

Kurt perks up. “Gifts? For me?”

Blaine laughs at his expression. “Of course. There were many wonderful things to trade for.”

Kurt hadn’t expected this, and looks to Blaine eagerly, already moving the food tray to the floor. “I would love to see what you’ve brought back!”

Blaine retrieves one of his packs and brings it to the bed, re-joining Kurt at his side. He looks inside and pulls out a beautiful shirt made of sky blue satin with gold embellishments, and Kurt is transfixed with how lovely it is.

“Gods, Blaine, this must have been a fortune,” he breathes, touching one of the sleeves to feel the texture of the cloth.

“It was worth it,” Blaine says, mouth smiling so widely with his gaze steady on Kurt’s face.

“May I wear it right now?” Kurt asks, looking pleadingly at Blaine.

“Of course,” Blaine hurries to answer, helping Kurt put it on.  “I wasn’t sure if it would fit you, but I thought if it didn’t, you would be able to fix it the way you made my tunic.”

Kurt smooths out the fabric once it’s on him, looking down to admire the way it makes him look like a proper gentleman.  “I love it. It’s perfect.” He smiles up at Blaine. “What do you think?”

“It looks beautiful on you,” Blaine says, not taking his eyes from Kurt’s face. “It reminded me of your eyes.”

Kurt blushes a little, and Blaine is already moving to take out the next present. There are a few more articles of clothing, a few adornments like a bracelet and a collar, which Blaine told him were popular in that region. He said that many of the city people had walked around in fancy clothing like those he’d gotten for Kurt, and that they enjoyed styling their hair in unusual ways. Kurt says the place sounds heavenly, and Blaine’s expression looks strange at that, reaching into the bag for a new gift instead of agreeing.

The next gifts are books, illustrated with intricate drawings in ink. “I know you’re just learning the language, and you probably can’t read it yet—many of us can’t because we don’t have a lot of use for reading and writing, but…”

“No, Blaine, hush, it’s fine. They’re wonderful either way. And Quinn has been teaching me some,” he smiles reassuringly, running his hands over the title indents on the covers. “The illustrations can help us along.”

Blaine seems reassured by that. “And there is one more gift.” He lifts a box from his bag, setting it on his lap to open. “I worried so much that this would break.” From the box he brings out the most stunning tea set Kurt has ever seen, even more than any they had used in the kingdom. The teapot and cups are a smooth, shiny white, with beautiful, delicate flowers in all shades of blue woven around their exterior. Some of the flowers are edged in gold, and each curved handle is as well. It’s enough to make him gasp.

“Oh, Blaine, how did you even get this?” he asks, picking up the teapot with both hands for a closer look.

“I traded some cacao, macaw feathers, and dried Giant Munia meat. Many of the people are eager to trade for things that aren’t easy for them to get,” Blaine says, smiling in delight as though the gifts are for him.

“These are too lovely, Blaine. I thought you were going for supplies. Your trading items were wasted on me,” Kurt murmurs, upset by the idea that Blaine gave away so many things he spent so much time on just to buy Kurt some presents.

“You think they’re a waste?” Blaine asks, face falling.

“No, no,” Kurt says in a rush, setting the teapot back in its box, touching Blaine’s arm. “I love them, Blaine. Truly. I just…don’t feel like I deserve them.”

But it’s more than even that. None of the gifts are _practical_. None of them are suited for the life they live here among the trees. Where is he to wear this fabulous shirt? It would be ruined in under an hour with the work he does daily. How is he to read books when these people have no use for written prose? And there is surely no one to appreciate the delicacy of his tea set. The cups are so small you won’t get much from them. No one sips, here. No one’s pinky finger extends as they drink.

It isn’t that he doesn’t _like_ them, it’s that they don’t _fit_. He can’t help but be reminded of how he’s felt for so long. He was just beginning to feel like he belonged, but these gifts only serve to remind him of his other life, the one he doesn’t miss so much at all anymore. He would almost prefer the first gifts, the deer that would supply them with food and clothing, the knife he could use for protection while he’s out in the jungle, the…

Okay, not that _creature_.

That realization, the foreignness of the gifts, it all sits uncomfortably in Kurt’s gut, but he certainly doesn’t have the heart to tell Blaine. Blaine went through so much trouble.

Blaine, who is frowning at him almost sadly. “Kurt, you deserve everything.”

Kurt does not even know what to say to that, but he isn’t given the chance either way. Blaine tips him back against the pillows, kissing him sweetly. All these lovely gifts, when all Kurt really wants is _this_.

\----

Being Blaine’s mate is more than Kurt could have hoped for.

Kurt doesn’t have to fight what’s in his heart anymore. He’s never scared. He feels _safe,_ he feels connected. He knows now that this is his home, these are his people, here in the Wild with Blaine. But the greatest thing of all is that Kurt has found someone to cherish, someone who loves him. He wants to be with Blaine, he knows he wouldn’t be complete without him.

Kurt and Blaine spend the days following the mating ceremony learning each other’s bodies like they’re making up for lost time. They rarely leave the treehouse or each other’s side. They discover each other’s interests, share thoughts. Kurt has found he can say anything to Blaine and Blaine never judges him.  Blaine still loves to be read to, he nearly comes undone from head massages, he likes to make Kurt breakfast and sing with him and watch him make new garments out of old ones.

It really is perfect…except one little thing. When Kurt thought to himself those months ago that he barely knew Blaine, he later realized _he barely knew Blaine_. He knew important things -- how sweet Blaine could be, how clever, how strong. And he has been learning new things as well; like what food Blaine prefers, what chores he hates, how he feels about certain members of the tribe. But Kurt still doesn’t know many personal things, like who Blaine’s parents were, how he became leader, or what he was like as a child.

Blaine has always seemed like an open book to Kurt, but now that they can talk, Kurt has noticed that Blaine _isn’t_. Not exactly.  Not about everything. Blaine is an amazing listener, but when it comes to sharing things about himself, Blaine has been holding back.

\----

Kurt brings it up with Quinn one afternoon when they’re having tea. It’s hot and balmy outside, and at least in the house there are less bugs and plenty of shade. Quinn has been complaining of a backache and stomach cramps all morning, so he’s reluctant to talk about it, but he also just _really_ wants to know.

“Quinn, has Blaine ever told you about his family?”

“Hm?” Quinn looks up, face showing that she hadn’t expected that kind of question. “No, not really. I do know about them, but not from Blaine directly. Why?”

Kurt sighs, frowning at the table. “He won’t talk to me about it. He evades any real discussion about his personal life. I’ve talked about mine, but he’s so…closed off. And he’s been more withdrawn as the days go by, I don’t understand…”

“I think Blaine is just private about certain things. He is earnest, and he’s such a good leader, but he’s also just human like the rest of us. I don’t think he means to keep things from you, he might not even realize he’s doing it,” Quinn says, and then, encouraging, “Give him time, okay?”

“I know.” Kurt nods. “I will. I guess I just worry.”

Quinn smiles knowingly, something teasing in it. “You’ve turned out to be such a sweetheart.”

Kurt blushes, appalled. He sits up straight. “How dare you. I’ll have you know that in my land I was nearly a Prince.”

Quinn, who Kurt can tell was about to retort with something sassy, instead squints, sitting back in her chair to study him. “You’re a Sylvester?”

“My mother was Elizabeth Sylvester, Sue’s sister. You know of Sue?” Kurt leans forward, interest piqued. “You _did_ come from my kingdom?”

“Wow, I don’t see her in you at all. But yes, I’m from behind the Wall.” Quinn sighs, seeming reluctant to go on. “My father disowned me for being ‘promiscuous.’” Her fingers make air quotes around the word, a bite to it. “I…was actually pregnant, years ago. When I was about your age.” She stops, and again Kurt isn’t sure she’s going to continue. He almost says something, but she keeps speaking. “My father was head priest at temple, he had a lot of influence. When he found out about my pregnancy, he had me banished. Simple as that.”

Kurt looks at Quinn in sympathy. He realizes why the name Fabray seemed familiar. He remembers that priest, but he had passed away some years ago. Kurt, not particularly involved with the temple, had never personally met the man. He remembers him from services, balding and stern looking, reserved. Nothing like the beautiful woman who has become Kurt’s dear friend.

“I’m so sorry, Quinn,” Kurt says.

Quinn smiles to herself, eyes downward, then finally raises them to Kurt’s and directs the smile at him. “It’s okay, Kurt. It took a long time to heal, and I’m not sure it ever really stops hurting. But I have a new life here, a _good_ life. It’s what I hoped you would find, too.”

“I have,” Kurt say, forcing the words through a tight throat.

“Good,” she says, just as quiet. She takes his hand, and a long moment passes where they simply look at each other.

She gets up from her chair and begins to move around the table, and Kurt knows it’s for a hug and begins to stand, when Quinn’s hand gives Kurt’s a squeeze, and Kurt’s about to let go, but…she squeezes tighter. Really tight. _Really_ …

“Ow! _Quinn!_ ”

Quinn’s face contorts, lips parted around a strangled, strange sound. “Oh, Kurt…” He hears something like water splashing against the floorboards, and then Quinn says, “Oh shit that’s a lot—”

“Did you just say _shit_?”

“ _Kurt!_ ”

“What? I don’t get it…did you accidentally pee?” he asks, lowering his voice.

Quinn looks like she wants to throw something at him. “I’m having the baby!”

Kurt’s eyes widen. “What? Right now? Ohmygods we have to—Where’s Puck? I’ll go get him!”

“No—” Quinn looks frantic. “Don’t leave me up here. My water broke, that’s all. I’ll go down, we’ll go find him together.”

“You can’t go down the ladder!” Kurt all but screeches, his voice reaching even higher octave than he thought possible.

“I’m not having my baby in your _house_!”

Kurt tries to think around the consuming feeling of panic. “We can…I can send you down the basket!”

“That thing!?”

“Blaine lifted a whole deer in it once!  Well, _most_ of a deer—”

“It’s not that I don’t trust the _basket_ , I don’t trust those skinny arms not to _drop_ me!”

“My arms are not _skinny_!”

Their bickering is interrupted by Blaine coming up the ladder. “Are you two fighting?” And it takes Kurt a moment, having not even realized Blaine was there until he was just _there_.

“Thank gods! Blaine, Quinn is having her baby, you have to go find Puck and Tina—”

“And get me down from here,” Quinn chimes in, but her complaint is broken by a pained moan, and she bends in toward herself, holding her stomach.

Kurt has to stop himself from flapping his arms in a worried flail. “You can’t!”

“Okay, Kurt, you need to calm down,” Blaine says in a soothing voice, touching his shoulders. “Quinn, you will absolutely stay put. It’s going to be just fine, the baby has been due to come around this time, and you’re in good health. Just lay down and try to relax, and I’ll take care of everything. I’ll go get Puck and Tina.”

Blaine disappears back down the ladder, and Quinn shuffles her way over to the bed. Kurt jumps in to help, thinking with a tad bit of resentment that _of course_ she listened to Blaine and not him. But the edge seems to be taken off both of them, and he also knows that’s Blaine’s doing. It’s just another example of why Blaine is leader, he can handle situations calmly and make _you_ feel calmed, too.

Kurt helps Quinn onto the bed, too concerned for her to even move their best animal pelts out from under where there is sure to be a disgusting mess. He adjusts the pillows behind her and pulls up a chair at the bedside to hold her hand, murmuring reassurances, asking more than once if she needs anything.

After what feels like an eternity, Puck, Tina, and Blaine make their way up the ladder. Kurt jumps to his feet, though he’s less quick to release Quinn’s hand and his chair to Puck. As Tina starts asking questions and checking Quinn over, Kurt backs up until his shoulder hits Blaine’s chest. Worried, he glances over, and Blaine loops his arms around Kurt’s middle, pulling Kurt’s body snug against his.

“It’s going to be fine. Tina is an amazing doctor,” he murmurs against Kurt’s ear, but Kurt isn’t convinced. He doesn’t think Blaine is as calm inside as he’s trying to come off as, either.

Blaine must sense Kurt’s nerves, because he backs them both up until they’re sitting in the rocking chair reserved for Quinn’s visits. Kurt adjusts himself on Blaine’s lap, not unlike a child, and lets himself be held.

“Blaine,” Kurt whispers, face tilted toward Blaine’s though his eyes are on the bed. “Quinn told me she was pregnant years ago. Where is that child?”

Blaine, who had begun to rock, stills. A long moment passes before he answers, his voice hushed so only the two of them can hear. “That baby didn’t make it.” Blaine’s arms tighten around Kurt as Kurt begins to turn in them. “Relax, shh. It was a different situation. She had been alone in the jungle for weeks, her body was deprived, and emotionally she was…stressed, to say the least. It was also a child from another person, and the baby hadn’t been in her stomach as long as this one has been. With this pregnancy she’s prepared, it’s the right time for birth, she has a doctor. She has all of us. She’s going to be safe.”

Blaine’s hands caress Kurt’s arms, soothing him. Kurt wants to be reassured, but he knows that so many things can go wrong in childbirth. When Quinn begins to scream from birthing pains, Kurt can’t watch anymore. He turns his body and buries his face against Blaine’s neck. “I’m scared.”

“I know,” Blaine whispers, and rubs Kurt’s back, slowly rocking them.

\----

After so long waiting, at some point during the night, Kurt must have fallen asleep. He’s jolted awake by the sound of crying, of Blaine’s body underneath his shifting, moving. Blaine is saying, “Kurt, the baby,” in an excited sort of voice, and then they’re both standing while Kurt is still trying to get his bearings.

“Quinn?”

Kurt takes stock of his surroundings. It looks to be early morning, low light glowing from outside through the open windows. Puck and Tina are still at Quinn’s bedside, and a few other people have joined them as well. Quinn looks pale and exhausted, hair sweat-dampened and matted down, but her smile…

He’s never seen her smile the way she is smiling down at the tiny, crying bundle in her arms.

Everyone is talking to her, even Blaine, but all Kurt can do is stare.

Puck takes a turn holding the baby, and when he gets it to stop crying he passes it back to Quinn. Quinn looks up and locks eyes with Kurt. She smiles. “Come meet your new baby sister, Kurt.”

“Sister?” Kurt echoes in disbelief.

“Mm. Little Beth,” Quinn says, smoothing back a tuft of blonde hair on top of the baby’s head.

Blaine nudges Kurt over to the bed, still standing at his back, and it’s something like a miracle that Kurt can even get his feet to comply after hearing Quinn call her baby his _sister_.

“Do you really mean that? Sister?” Kurt asks, gazing down at Beth.

“Don’t you think she’s going to need some strong brothers to take care of her?” Quinn asks, smiling up at both of them. “At least until she’s old enough to learn to spar.”

Blaine is hugging Kurt from behind again, mouth against the back of Kurt’s neck in a kiss, his shoulder. Kurt knows Blaine’s smiling, and can’t hold back a smile of his own, eyes suddenly stinging. “I think I would like that. I would like that a lot.”

\----

The birth of Quinn’s daughter seems to jolt Kurt and Blaine out of their honeymoon phase. Not because they have to take care of Quinn, but the experience reminds them that there are things happening outside their treehouse.

When this happens, when they are finally able to function outside of each other, Blaine teaches Kurt what his responsibilities are as co-leader. It doesn’t seem as intimidating as Kurt thought; it involves making sure there are enough supplies, food, clothing, that people have what they need, that they’re happy. Sometimes fights need to be broken up, disputes settled, but Blaine and a few others who seem to be what Kurt would call palace guards, take care of those.

Blaine becomes especially busy in preparation for rain season. Kurt questions this. They always have their fair share of rain, but Blaine tells him that at this time of year it can get bad, storms and flooding-bad, and there are a lot of pre-emptive measures to be taken to make sure everyone’s houses are sturdy and that their roofs won’t leak. Blaine always comes home by dusk, sometimes tired, sweaty, dirty, other times clean and wet from a dip in the river because he knows how much Kurt values hygiene. Either way, they make love. Kurt can’t ever seem to get enough of touching Blaine, and even when Blaine is exhausted, he makes sure to save the last of his energy for Kurt.

But all the work Blaine is doing is beginning to take its toll. _Something_ is. Kurt can tell by the way Blaine’s smile comes slower than normal lately, by the way he continuously asks Kurt if he’s okay, and the desperation in his eyes when he comes. He holds so tight to Kurt in bed that sometimes Kurt wakes up in the middle of the night from a dream where he’s suffocating.

One morning, when Blaine wakes up ridiculously early, probably to go patch someone’s roof or chop down a tree so someone can get more sunlight through their window or something, and Kurt just can’t take it anymore - Kurt stops him. He rolls on top of Blaine and pins him to the blankets, knowing this is the fastest and easiest route to keep Blaine put.

“Kurt?” Blaine asks, hands sliding up Kurt’s sides, looking up at Kurt like he’s starving for him.

“Stay,” Kurt pleads, not meaning for it to come out like that, and yet.

“Kurt…”

“Please, Blaine. You’re running yourself thin. The tribe can survive a day without you.”

Blaine’s solemn mouth tilts into an uncertain, but hopeful smile. He sits up, leaning in to kiss Kurt softly. “Okay. Anything you want.”

Kurt smiles and kisses Blaine in reply with a whispered, “Thank you.”

The kiss grows heated, and Kurt can feel Blaine stir underneath him. This wasn’t Kurt’s intention, and he pulls away, inhales hard. “This isn’t—I want to talk. Can we go somewhere?”

\----

 _Somewhere_ ends up being a few miles off, past gentle hills and into a sprawling field of tall grass and flowers. They find a spot where the grass thins out (the work of local deer, Blaine tells him) to sit. It’s a warm day, but there’s a breeze and the sun feels good, and no one will bother them out here in the middle of nowhere.

Blaine has picked some flowers along the way, and presents them to Kurt, his smile nearly shy. “For you.”

Kurt takes them, the nervousness in the pit of his stomach lessening, and breathes in their scent before sitting across from Blaine. “Thank you.”

“This is nice,” Blaine says, looking around at their surroundings, smiling at Kurt. “I’m sorry I’ve been so busy.”

“I know you have a lot of responsibilities. And I don’t mind that you’re busy, even. But something doesn’t feel right, Blaine, and every time I try to bring it up, or hint at it, you either evade my questions or kiss me, and in that case one thing leads to another, and…well.” Kurt blushes, amazed he can still blush after all the things they’ve done together. “Then there is no discussion.”

Blaine doesn’t meet Kurt’s eyes. He doesn’t say anything for such a long time that Kurt is about to prompt him, when finally Blaine opens his mouth to speak.

“I came to the tribe when I was two. Or rather, the tribe found me, as it was told by my father. My father…was not my real father. He would have been more of a grandfather. He was leader at the time, and he took Cooper and me in and raised us. They—my father and his wife, my mother—suspected we were gypsy children, but never found our people, so it was never truly known.

“Cooper was seven at the time, and wouldn’t speak for a year. My father never knew why. Being so young, I can’t remember who my real parents were, and Cooper claimed to have no memory of them. The tribe became our people, especially for me, I didn’t know anything else.”

Blaine glances up, wiping his hands on his knees, his gaze fleeting.

“Cooper was always restless. At age twelve he was allowed to go on a trading expedition, and convinced our parents to let me go as well, even though I was only seven. I remember the sights and sounds of the city, the way the buildings towered, not as tall as the trees but somehow more imposing. I think it scared me a little, at seven,” he explains.

Kurt reaches for Blaine’s hand and holds it in his own, not sure where this is leading, but knowing there is pain in the way Blaine can’t meet his eyes, in the slow coming of his words.

“When we returned, we found out that our mother had died. She was old, older than I think either of us realized as children. I was devastated.”

Kurt feels his stomach lurch and his chest tighten, Blaine’s confession triggering the memory of the discovery of his own mother’s death. His fingers squeeze Blaine’s palm. “Oh, Blaine,” he whispers.

“I refused to go on another trip. Somehow, my child’s mind felt it was my fault because I wasn’t there. I…associated the traveling with her death, I couldn’t process it.” Blaine sighs, a long pause before he continues. “Cooper didn’t feel the same. He lives to travel, he loves cities. The only reason he didn’t go on this last trip is because he’d fallen ill. He would have gone instead of me, I wanted him to—” Blaine finally looks up, really _looks_ at Kurt. “I was scared to leave you.”

“Did you think I would die?” Kurt asks, voice hushed.

Blaine smiles momentarily, shakes his head. “I was scared you would leave.”

Kurt wants to refute it, but knows Blaine’s worry wasn’t completely unfounded.

Blaine continues before Kurt can figure out how to respond. “Quinn told me you wanted to, that you talked about wanting to leave as soon as you learned to speak, and that when you found out about the trip you’d asked to come along. She warned me because she knew how much I felt for you. She didn’t want me to get my hopes up. Kurt, I didn't even know if you'd still be here when I got back,” he says, voice thick with anguish.

Kurt swears under his breath. “I’m sorry, Blaine, I didn’t—”

“No, Kurt,” Blaine says, covering the top of Kurt’s hand with his free one. “I understand. I don’t blame you for wanting to leave. Your people are so different from mine. Your land sounds…great. You live in a castle, and there are exciting battles, and dragons…”

Wait.

“Dragons?”

“Like in your book,” Blaine says, so seriously that Kurt surprises the both of them by the laugh Blaine’s expression brings.

“My book? Blaine, those are just stories. They aren’t real,” he says, getting control of himself.

“I know they’re stories, but…” Blaine looks confused. “I thought they were about real things.”

“They’re just tales for children.” Kurt shakes his head and sobers a little, wanting to explain himself. “It’s true, my people are different from yours, and it is true that I wanted to leave.”

“I really thought you were going to,” Blaine starts to say, sounding scared even now.

Kurt moves, nearly into Blaine’s lap, needing Blaine to hear him. “But I didn’t. And I _won’t_.” He smiles, trying to get Blaine to relax. “We had a mating ceremony. Didn’t that mean anything? Besides public sex?”

Blaine does smile a little, but Kurt can still see the lines of worry on his forehead. “I rushed it,” he says. “I wasn’t even back a full day.”

“True,” Kurt says, affectionately smoothing back some of Blaine’s hair. “But you had been asking to be my mate since I arrived.”

Blaine smiles, almost self-deprecatingly bashful, at that. “My people…my culture, I think, is simpler than yours. From what I’ve learned of yours. I’m sure you must have expected—wanted something different.”

“And you think I regret it, because it was so spontaneous?” Kurt asks.

Blaine’s smile disappears, eyebrows drawing up with guilt.

Kurt leans in to kiss Blaine, slow, and with feeling. “Do I seem unhappy to you?”

“I worry that I can’t give you the kind of life you want,” Blaine says, his voice coming out hoarse. “That it won’t be enough, like it isn’t for Cooper. If you want to leave, I understand, but I want you to know I’m willing to go with you—”

Kurt presses a finger to Blaine’s lips. “No. Blaine, I have no people. _You’re_ my people. I don’t feel incomplete when I’m with you, I don’t feel like something is missing. Not even a hot bath.”

Blaine’s eyes are wet and he laughs, just a little squeak. His smile is the smile Kurt loves, where Blaine’s eyes are half-moons and lines crinkle at the corners. The smile that’s just for him.

“I know we’re only just learning about each other, but I already loved you before we could say three words between us. Your actions, the way you were with your people—the way you _looked_ at me,” Kurt whispers, breath hitching, eyes searching. “I’m never saying goodbye to you, Blaine.”

“ _Kurt_.” Blaine’s voice cracks, hands reaching to cup the back of Kurt’s head and bring their mouths together in a searing kiss. Blaine, in his hunger to kiss Kurt’s lips numb, nearly topples them both over. Kurt takes over, pressing Blaine back into the grass, straddling him, bent over his body so their mouths don’t have to part.

“Need you, always need you,” Kurt says in a breathy voice.

They take their time, lying naked and tangled together under the late summer sun. Blaine’s hands map out Kurt’s body like it’s the first time he’s been given permission to touch, hands stroking the most innocent of places, elbows and the backs of knees, to the most intimate. Kurt returns the favor with his mouth, kissing each rib, licking along the trail of dark hair down Blaine’s abdomen, nuzzling his soft thighs. Without anything on hand but saliva, Kurt can’t enter Blaine like he so desperately wants. Instead, Blaine takes them both in hand, pumping with the aid of spit and pre-come, staring up at Kurt with eyes half-open and mouth parted, panting softly, moaning his name.

Kurt needs that mouth and dips back down to kiss and kiss, bringing his hand to join Blaine’s. Warmth follows, soft cries and harsh breathing, whispered gratitude.

Blaine cradles Kurt to his body, languidly kissing his face, his sweat-matted hair. He murmurs his love for Kurt, promises he always will. Kurt nuzzles salty skin and makes his own promises, tugging gently at the leather bracelet around Blaine’s wrist.

When Kurt can feel his legs again and seems able to summon the energy to move, he gives Blaine one last kiss and sits up to pull his pants back on. As lovely as that was, the grass is tickling him, making him itch. Blaine does the same, and won’t stop smiling at Kurt with the mooniest expression.

“Should we go back?” Blaine asks, running his fingers through Kurt’s hair, shaking out a leaf and a few blades of grass.

“Just a little longer,” Kurt says, not yet ready to share Blaine with others. Blaine doesn’t argue Kurt’s decision, and Kurt settles against Blaine’s side. He picks up the bouquet and begins to separate the flowers, absently weaving two together to start a chain. “Tell me more about your parents?”

Blaine opens up, recalling memories that are clearly cherished. He tells stories about how his father taught him how to hunt, how to make a fire and cook, how his mother taught him to be gentle, and to build and fix and use tools. They had wanted children of their own for so long, but had never been able to conceive, and they believed Blaine and Cooper were their greatest blessing.

“They were amazing leaders, Kurt. I was able to watch my father lead until I was seventeen, before he died from old age. He told me I’d be leader after him, though leadership isn’t a matter of linage with my people. Not handed down from parents to child. It’s determined more by who is the smartest and the strongest. Who the people trust. They wanted me, though…the tribe.” He blushes as he says this, looking like he still can’t believe it.

“Smart tribe,” Kurt says, smiling knowingly. “You’re a good man, Blaine. You take care of everyone, you should be proud.”

“I…am happy in my position. Happier to have someone to share it with,” Blaine says, briefly touching Kurt’s cheek.

Kurt shakes his head fondly. “I don’t know how well I can take care of a tribe, but I promise to take care of _you_.”

Blaine’s gaze fills with such warmth, that Kurt suspects Blaine hasn’t had anyone take care of him in a long time.

“Do you know what they call leaders where I’m from?” Kurt asks, placing the wreath of flowers atop Blaine’s head.

Blaine glances up and laughs. “There’s another word for it?”

“Sort of. A leader of a kingdom is a called a ‘King’ or a ‘Queen’,” he says in his language, admiring the wreath on Blaine’s head. “Sometimes there is one, or both. And that crown makes you King.”

“Does that mean you are a ‘Queen’?” Blaine asks, trying the word out.

It’s Kurt’s turn to laugh. “No, a Queen is a woman, a King is a man.”

Blaine smiles and plucks a nearby flower. Not having a wreath on hand, he tucks the flower behind Kurt’s ear. “Then you are my King.”

Kurt grins and leans in to kiss Blaine, tasting the sweetness of Blaine’s smile with a soft press of lips. “So we shall be.”

“I wish I could see your homeland,” Blaine murmurs, keeping close to Kurt.

“Oh, it’s all just towering buildings, dear,” Kurt says.

Blaine looks as though he’s going to reply, when his gaze focus beyond Kurt, eyebrows drawn in concern. “Do you hear that?”

“Hm?” Kurt turns to look, but sees nothing. He hears it, though, as his attention has been redirected. “A horse?”

“But not from the direction of home,” Blaine says, standing. Kurt follows, and they both look in the direction of the sound. The horse is moving at a slow pace, which quickens when, Kurt suspects, it reaches the meadow. It isn’t easy navigating a steed through the jungle, and wild horses don’t live in this area.

The first thing Kurt notices — because how can he not? — like a bright, flashing sign, are the colors of his kingdom on the horse’s saddlecloth. The reins, even, are red and white. Kurt swears his heart stops beating, and he must forget what breathing is, because he finds himself inhaling sharply in a desperate attempt for air. “Blaine, it’s…”

The rider must see them, because he slows his mount and brings it to a trot in their direction. As he comes closer, Kurt recognizes just who he is.

“ _Sam?_ ” Kurt’s voice rings across the meadow.

There’s an uncertain, “Kurt?” in reply, and Kurt knows immediately. It _is_ Sam, one of the palace guards.

“Sam! It’s me!” Kurt calls, though Sam is close enough to properly see now. Kurt’s smile is wide. Blaine must be less enthused, because Kurt feels Blaine’s arm brush his, then outright press against it. “It’s fine.” Kurt turns to look at Blaine, wanting to reassure. “Sam is fine, he’s nice.”

At first, Kurt thinks Blaine is angry, defensive, even, but it doesn’t take much more than a moment to realize Blaine also looks _scared_.

“Kurt!” Sam laughs. He brings his horse to a stop, just a few feet away. “I can’t believe I actually found you!”

“Were you looking for me?” Kurt asks, a hundred questions suddenly popping into his mind. _What is Sam doing so far from the kingdom? Has he been banished? Why? And how, then, does he have a mount?_

“Sue was overthrown!” Sam exclaims. “It’s a long story; Becky’s kind of standing in, but Becky’s no leader, y’know? Anyway, you’re next in line for the throne. You’re the rightful heir, little Prince. You go back home and you’ll be King!”

Kurt is shocked by the news, but it’s that last part that really gets him. He barely has a moment to even process, when Blaine interjects.

“What is he saying?”

Kurt blinks, as though coming out of a daze, and translates for Blaine. He can see Blaine steeling himself, jumping to conclusions, already preparing for Kurt’s farewell. But Kurt doesn’t need to consider Sam’s offer. He doesn’t take even a moment to follow that idea down the rabbit hole. Instead, he takes Blaine’s hand.

“I already am a King,” Kurt says to Sam with a proud smile. He turns his smile on Blaine. “I’m not going anywhere.”

 

 

 


End file.
